


SOLDIER, KEEP ON MARCHIN’ ON, COME THRU LIKE THE SWEETENER U R

by moonythejedi394



Series: the same story; told different ways [10]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky is confused, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Don't copy to another site, Gender Issues, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Steve Rogers, Gentle Sex, Identity Issues, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Knotting, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Little Steve Rogers, M/M, Marking, Mental Health Issues, Modern Steve Rogers, Mommy Peggy Carter, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Non-Sexual Age Play, Omega Steve Rogers, Other, Peggy Carter as Captain America, Peggy is Squinting, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Pre-HYDRA Reveal, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Schmoop, Steve Rogers Is A Chihuahua, Steve wants none of this nonsense, Sub Steve Rogers, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers, Tattoos, Top Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, but DTF, daddy bucky barnes, everyone is born in the modern times except bucky, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-30 00:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: When Steve was seven years old, he found a mangey and half-starved cat in the alley behind his and his mother’s apartment building in Navy Hill. Despite being incredibly allergic to the creature, Steve had spent all of his allowance for that month on cat food and he spent the next few weeks nursing the stray back to health. The cat moved on after eventually, but a few months later, Steve found another one and the whole process started all over again.Bucky is another stray cat. Steve has no way of knowing what demons the Alpha carries in his head and he certainly has no way of knowing that Bucky won’t turn hostile on him, but Steve never learned his lesson to stop feeding strays.“This is gonna end badly,” Steve mutters to himself.So, as one does when one makes potentially catastrophic decisions that could and would backfire spectacularly based on how little self-control one has concerning bedraggled and sad-eyed stray cats and Alphas, Steve makes a cup of tea.





	1. ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all, i wasn't planning on posting this just yet BUT those of y'all that are on my tumblr might've seen[the nasty anon](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/post/182854105502/i-see-you-on-twitter-posting-about-lgbt-folks-as) that's been my tail for the past few weeks, the one that's mad about how i write gender non-conformity and crossdressing with mlm ships. so, in honor of that nasty anon, have some genderfluid!steve._

#  **_ONE_ **

 

When there were no more heads to cut off of the monster that was Hydra, the Winter Soldier no longer had a purpose in life.

 

Once, the Soldier didn’t need a purpose. The Soldier existed to serve. It existed to serve Hydra, Hydra existed to serve the world, and the world existed to be served. The Soldier didn’t need any reason to serve beyond its handlers ordering it to. The Soldier didn’t need to know kindness, the Soldier didn’t need to know gentleness, the Soldier only needed to obey and it could tolerate any pain or suffering or depression that its handlers saw fit to put the Soldier through.

 

Then, by some careless mistake, it remembered that it had had a name once.

 

After a mission, the Soldier was sent straight into stasis without its memory being wiped. In stasis, the Soldier had _dreamed._ It had seen a sunlit street, cracked pavement and a weed pushing through those cracks. There, in that dream, the Soldier had seen three young girls. They’d played hopscotch and Ring Around the Rosies and the Soldier had been invited to play with them. The girls had laughed and smiled without fear and called the Soldier _Bucky._

 

The next time the Soldier had been removed from stasis, it killed its handlers.

 

The Soldier killed every Hydra operative and agent in that facility and when it was done there, it moved on to the next one. As the Soldier moved from Hydra facility to facility, it had remembered more. The weed it had seen was a dandelion. It had once made wishes on dandelions with the three girls it had seen. The three girls playing hopscotch had belonged to the Soldier. They were the Soldier’s responsibility. The Soldier had been told to protect them and it made its first discovery from that. The Soldier was not only a tool of war. The Soldier had once had little sisters and it’s duty had once been to look after children instead of killing them.

 

By the time the Soldier cleared Russia of the infection of Hydra, it understood that it was not a weapon. The Soldier was a man, an Alpha. The Soldier could not bring itself to take the name that its sisters had once laughed and sang so happily, but Bucky had not been its only name. Its mother, for the Soldier had once had a mother as well, had called it James. Leaving Russia, the Soldier felt comfortable calling itself that.

 

James. It could be a James.

 

The Soldier uprooted every Hydra facility and agent he could find. He killed them all. He spared innocent spouses and their children. The Soldier found places where he had killed for Hydra and he left daisies on the graves of those he’d executed. The Soldier made a plan at last. The Soldier would rid the world of Hydra and then he would rid the world of himself.

 

Destroying the final Hydra base came faster than the Soldier had anticipated. And when it was gone, the Soldier was left standing in the rubble with one last bullet in his gun. The sky rained ash and the Soldier stood in the rubble, looking at a speck of bright yellow in all the blood and dust.

 

The Soldier completed its last mission and finally, it found hesitance. The Soldier stood with one last bullet and a gun held in his hands and it didn’t know what he wanted to do. The Soldier remembered flashes of his childhood. The Soldier remembered better flashes of its servitude to an evil powerhouse. The Soldier found he/it was unsure at last.

 

But the Soldier’s uncertainty did not matter in the end, for while the Soldier stood staring at a dandelion in the rubble of the last vessel of Hydra, a new powerhouse swooped down on him for his long list of crimes.

 

“Surrender!” the Soldier was told.

 

In a split second, the Soldier considered killing these people as well. But they were not Hydra. He recognized their insignia; this was SHIELD, and SHIELD was an enemy of Hydra.

 

Enemy of his enemy. The Soldier flicked the drum from his revolver and removed his last bullet. Then he lay the gun on the ground and raised his hands above his head as he went to his knees in the ash. The Soldier put the unspent bullet in his mouth as SHIELD agents rushed him. The Soldier did not resist being put in restraints. The Soldier did not resist the needle plunging into his neck. The Soldier tucked his last bullet between his cheek and his gums and did not resist the drugs rendering him unconscious.

 

The Soldier slept. It had no purpose in life, but perhaps, when he woke, James could find one.

 

*

 

Steve raises their hand against the sunlight to shield their eyes and gives the front window a long, evaluating look. The explosion of colors and patterns stands out against the clear glass and the sunlight makes everything pop. The round, shield-like logo of his brand sits in the center of the design, an actual shield over dozens of different art pieces, showcasing as much of Steve’s skill as possible. Steve had spent nearly a week carefully etching the design into the window and another four days to color everything in, and that didn’t even count the time and effort they put into creating the design in the first place. In bold, silver letters over the center of their logo is the name of their shop, _Lady Liberty Tattoos & Piercings. _

 

Steve had wanted to paint the front window of their shop for as long as they’d had the lease, but only in the past year or so did it actually become financially possible. It had taken a while past that to get everything in order, to find the time to close the shop for long enough that they could do it, since they’d insisted on painting it themself. Now it’s finally finished. The window looks fantastic.

 

“Does it look like a professional did it?” Steve asks Darcy.

 

“Sweetie,” Darcy says flatly, “you are a professional.”

 

Steve shoots her an unappreciative look. “I’m not a professional window painter,” they snap. “Does the _window_ look like a professional _window_ artist painted it?”

 

Darcy gives a long and heavy sigh. “It looks like a professional artist did it,” she says. “I really don’t think anyone would be able to tell that the artist wasn’t used to painting windows.”

 

Steve elbows her. Darcy snorts and throws her arm over their shoulders in return.

 

“It looks great, Stevie!” she insists. “Quit second guessing yourself and let’s go get drinks to celebrate!”

 

“Tomorrow’s a work day,” Steve counters.

 

“Then we stay in and get pizza to celebrate,” Darcy sighs. “You’re such an introvert, Steve.”

 

“I’m being practical!” Steve says, taking out their keys and leading Darcy back towards the front door of the shop.

 

“You’re an introvert,” Darcy says. “Plain and simple. The shop doesn’t open until ten tomorrow.”

 

“But I have to be up before that,” Steve points out.

 

Darcy gives them a look. “Yes,” she says dryly, “because your commute to work is so awful.”

 

Steve flushes. They live in the apartment above the shop.

 

“Shuddup,” they grumble, unlocking the front door and letting Darcy back inside.

 

“Lucky for you, Mama loves pizza,” Darcy announces. “You wanna invite anybody else? Maybe Sam?”

 

“Nah,” Steve says. They turn and shut the door behind them, locking it again. “Sam and me broke up.”

 

“What!” Darcy gasps.

 

Steve faces her and shrugs. “It wasn’t working out,” they say. “We have too different needs.”

 

“But you guys were so cute,” Darcy whines, deflating. “He was all big and handsome and you’re so tiny! The height difference was adorable!”

 

“I’m aware,” Steve laughs. “We wanted different things. Plain and simple.”

 

Darcy pouts. Steve chuckles and slings an arm around her shoulders.

 

“Do you need to drink away your regret over my breakup?” they ask. “I’ve got beer.”

 

“Please,” Darcy sighs. “I loved Sam, Steve!”

 

Steve rolls their eyes. “We’re still friends, Darce,” they remind her.

 

“Oh, sure,” Darcy answers, rolling her eyes. “Like that ever actually works out.”

 

“Sam and I are actual adults,” Steve says. “We were friends before we started dating and we’re still friends now because we used communication to discuss our needs and wants fully instead of sending a one-off text and then moving across the country.”

 

“This pity party is for _your_ dead relationship, not mine!” Darcy counters.

 

Steve laughs. They hug Darcy’s shoulders and walks her through the dim shop towards the back and the stairs leading up to his apartment.

 

“I thought you guys were working out so well,” Darcy sighs. “What happened?”

 

Steve shrugs. “The usual thing,” they admit.

 

Darcy pouts. “I hate it when that happens,” she grumbles. “You need to call Peggy?”

 

“I already called her,” Steve says. “Go sit on the couch and find something to watch, I’ll order the pizza.”

 

“When’s Peggy coming, then?” Darcy asks as they split, her into the living room and him into the kitchen.

 

Steve opens the takeout drawer and starts digging around for the menu to their favorite pizza place while in the living room, Darcy sprawls onto the sofa and switches on the TV.

 

“She doesn’t need to come every time I break up with someone,” Steve points out.

 

“Yeah, but she does,” Darcy insists. “So, when is she coming?”

 

“She’s visiting for Christmas,” Steve says with a shrug.

 

“You know as well as I do that you need a day off and plenty of you time,” Darcy retorts. “And Christmas is way too far away.”

 

Steve shrugs again. “Peggy’s busy,” they say, pushing their glasses up their nose. “She’s swamped at work ‘cause her squad just brought in this high profile international assassin and it’s looking like he might be some sort’a immortal World War Two prisoner of war who’s been brainwashed into a killing machine.”

 

Darcy snorts. “That’s a new one,” she laughs. “Next she’s gonna tell us she’s processing immigration papers from Martians.”

 

Steve can’t help but laugh, too, finally finding the takeout menu they're looking for and shutting the drawer with their hip.

 

“She actually used that one on me a few weeks ago,” they say, heading to the living room to join Darcy. “But this brainwashed assassin thing’s a new low.”

 

“When’s she gonna come out with it and just tell us she works for the telephone company or something?” Darcy muses aloud. “Instead of feeding us outlandish lie after lie about working for some super secret spy organization?”

 

“Who knows?” Steve says.

 

They pause for a second, looking at the menu. While Darcy thinks Peggy never tells the truth of her job, they know she does actually work for a super-secret spy organization. This story of a brainwashed assassin might sound too ridiculous to be true, but who knows?

 

Sometimes Steve wishes they could experience some of the adventures Peggy had. Then again, dealing with brainwashed super assassins was probably more nerve-wracking than anything else.

 

“You want Meat Lovers’ or Hawaiian?” Steve asks.

 

“Meat Lovers!” Darcy says happily. “With extra cheese.”

 

Steve nods as they take out their phone and dials. “You got it, sweetheart.”

 

*

 

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Peggy says quietly to Director Fury.

 

“No one is,” Fury remarks. “But Agent Romanoff is the least likely to appear as a threat to him.”

 

“We should keep him under observation longer,” Peggy insists under her breath.

 

“I want to know why he turned on Hydra so suddenly,” Fury answers calmly. “He hasn’t shown any signs of hostility since we apprehended him; he surrendered peacefully.”

 

“It could be a false front,” Peggy argues. “He could be trying to lure us into a false sense of security.”

 

Fury steps closer to the one-way window in front of them without replying again. Peggy nears as well, watching the hunched form of the Winter Soldier remain slumped over his own lap as the door to his cell opens and Agent Romanoff enters.

 

“Privet, Soldat,” Agent Romanoff greets the Soldier in Russian.

 

Her voice comes across the speakers into observation clearly, though altered slightly by the electronic travel. Peggy and Director Fury wait with Romanoff for the Soldier to respond.

 

He does not.

 

Agent Romanoff steps sideways across the room, her steps slow and careful. Her hands are folded behind her back, her posture is at ease. The Soldier remains on his cot in the center of the white cell, his legs crossed in front of him and his elbows resting on his knees. His long hair is swung forward to obscure his face, not that it would have done any benefit for it to be out of the way. The Soldier wears a mask that no one has yet been brave enough to remove from him.

 

The Soldier doesn’t seem to mind it staying in place, anyway.

 

“ _My name is Natalia_ ,” Romanoff continues to speak in Russian. “ _I was a child of the Red Room._ ”

 

The Soldier still does not look up or speak. He doesn’t even move. Peggy finds that a bit of a surprise. From what they know of the Winter Soldier, he had been loaned to the Red Room, a sub-faction of the KGB, on multiple occasions. Agent Romanoff’s testimony alone determined that the Winter Soldier had been used to train child soldiers for the Soviet Union.

 

But the Soldier does not react to Agent Romanoff. It isn’t even clear if he can understand her.

 

“Soldier?” Agent Romanoff tries in English now. “Do you understand? Vy ponimayete?”

 

The Soldier does not respond. Peggy glances towards Director Fury, but Fury is simply frowning at the window. Peggy turns her gaze back on Agent Romanoff and the Soldier, and the Soldier does not move.

 

Agent Romanoff moves cautiously towards the cot. She sets a hand on the edge of it, then a knee, then she sits down in front of the Soldier. The Soldier doesn’t seem to notice her. Peggy shifts nervously on her feet. Romanoff lifts both hands towards the Soldier’s face.

 

Peggy jolts and Director Fury grabs her wrist. “Don’t,” he says. “Let’s see what happens.”

 

Peggy bites the inside of her cheek. Agent Romanoff touches the Soldier’s mask. The Soldier never moves. Romanoff, slowly, carefully, slips the mask from his face.

 

She sets it down on the cot between him and her. Peggy bites harder on the inside of her cheek. Romanoff reaches forward again and brushes the Soldier’s hair out of his face. Peggy is startled to see the Soldier’s face. It is lined and worn-looking. It is suddenly very plain that the Winter Soldier is no more than she or Fury or Agent Romanoff are. He’s just a man.

 

“My name is Natalia,” Romanoff says in English. “What’s yours?”

 

The Soldier’s eyes blinks. He doesn’t even look Russian.

 

“My name was James,” the Soldier says in a rough voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _for real, that anon i was talking about earlier isn't really a laughing matter. anon hate online is childish and unacceptable. i've only published a few of their messages, but i got the receipts, y'all and i ain't playin these games_
> 
> _this kinda stuff is some dumbass trolling. and since we know this particular anon is still subscribed to me on, apparently, all my social media platforms, they'll probably see this. if they do, real talk, sweetie, i ain't playin these games. 2012 called, they want their anonymous sunglasses back._
> 
>  
> 
> _but in other news, this is the murder daddy bucky fic. i'll catch y'all with chapter two next saturday._


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all, thank you so much for the overwhelmingly positive response to this new fic, i'm always so excited to share something new with y'all and y'all being so excited to get it makes everything even better. you'll be glad to know that the nasty anon that had inspired me to post this so early has been suspiciously quiet ever since[accusing me of fetishizing myself](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/post/182875820007/first-you-fetishize-mlm-and-now-you-fetishize). glad to see they realized the error of their ways. i hope you enjoy this bc i have soft! soft for you! platonic softness! and a look into steve's genderfluidity and bucky's confusionness. read on!_

#  **_TWO_ **

  


Being the sole owner of _Lady Liberty,_ Steve set the schedule himself. The shop was open during the weekend, which meant Steve took Mondays and Tuesdays off. So Sunday night, Steve happily turned his alarm off and put on an eye mask, prepared to conk the fuck out and sleep until noon on Monday.

 

Which is why he is pissed as _fuck_ when his phone rings at 8 AM Monday.

 

Steve groans and gropes blindly on his nightstand for his phone. He grabs it eventually, squints at the screen for a second until he realizes that it’s Peggy’s ringtone and he swipes right to answer the call.

 

“‘Lo?” Steve mumbles into the phone.

 

 _“Hello, darling,”_ Peggy says cheerfully. _“Let me in?”_

 

Steve blinks. “Let you…” he mutters. “Let you in? Are you in New York?”

 

 _“Yep!”_ Peggy answers. _“And I’ve brought you breakfast, so, yeah, let me in?”_

 

Steve sits up. He squints around until he finds his glasses, then he pushes them onto his face and swings his legs out of bed. He’s wearing pajamas, a loose cotton t-shirt and shorts, but the ground under his feet is freezing and he expects that the shop will be just as cold if not colder.

 

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Steve says into the phone, then just hangs up.

 

He grabs slippers and his bathrobe on his way down from the loft. His apartment is _freezing,_ more than normal, and with a frustrated groan, Steve sees that one of the living room windows is open. He makes a detour to cross to the long windows lining the front of the building. The fact that the window was open overnight doesn’t matter, Steve had bars installed on these windows the minute he had the money for it, so he could leave the windows open regularly in the summer because of the lack of central air conditioning in the apartment – a feature common in pre-war residential buildings. But there’s snow blown inside the window from the window standing open all night and Steve already keeps the central heat at a bare minimum, he doesn’t need to have windows open in the middle of late February.

 

Steve shuts the window and locks it, then shivers in his bathrobe and tiptoes around the puddle of melted snow back across the apartment. The floor is sealed concrete, fortunately, and the snow didn’t get far enough inside to reach any of his furniture. Steve should be thankful for small blessings. He’ll mop up the water later, for now, Steve hurries across the apartment to the stairway going down to the first floor.

 

Stepping out of the back office of the shop, Steve spots Peggy loitering outside the front door, a suitcase at her side and a paper bag in her free hand. She waves when she sees him and Steve grabs keys from a hook by the stairs and walks to the front door. He unlocks it and opens it, causing the bell to ring, and Peggy slips inside with her suitcase.

 

“How is it just as cold in here as it is outside?” Peggy sighs.

 

“I turn down the heat down here when the shop’s closed,” Steve answers. “What’re you doin’ in New York, Pegs?”

 

“Let me get out of my coat!” Peggy says, laughing. “Let’s go upstairs, darling, I brought you bagels.”

 

“I’m not going to be distracted by bagels,” Steve insists, locking the front door again.

 

“I brought fresh coffee beans, too,” Peggy adds. “I bought them on a mission to Peru last week, they’re quite excellent.”

 

Steve squints at her. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks.

 

Peggy laughs again and throws her arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Perhaps I just feel like it, darling,” she says.

 

“No,” Steve replies, “that doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Peggy insists.

 

Steve lets Peggy go in front of him and hangs his keys back on their hook by the stairs as they head up. Steve holds onto the metal railing out of habit as he follows Peggy to the second floor. Peggy leaves her suitcase by the stairs and walks into Steve’s kitchen, setting the paper bag she’d brought in on the wooden countertop.

 

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get the coffee going?” Peggy says to Steve. “I brought smoked lox and some lovely heirloom tomatoes –”

 

“What’s going on?” Steve interrupts. “You only bring me gifts when you’re stressed, Peggy.”

 

Peggy pauses in unpacking the paper sack and sighs heavily. “You know I can’t tell you,” she says.

 

“Is this about that brainwashed POW you found?” Steve presses.

 

Peggy shrugs. She forces a smile and steps sideways to throw an arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Can’t I just want to spend time with my darling?” she asks.

 

Steve tries to focus but blushes despite himself and ducks his head. “C’mon, I’m fine,” he mutters.

 

“It’s been months since you got to fully regress,” Peggy points out. “You just broke up with Sam and it’s near the anniversary of your mother’s death. I just thought it would be nice to visit you, maybe let you let go.”

 

Steve shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, even though the possibility sends a thrill of excitement through him. “I don’t know.”

 

“There’s no reason why not,” Peggy says. “Let me dote on you; we can both decompress.”

 

“I guess,” Steve mutters. He sits more upright; if Peggy needs this, too, then it really isn’t that big of a deal. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Why not?”

 

Peggy presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head and Steve doesn’t stop the bright grin from growing on his face. Peggy rubs her nose into Steve’s hair and Steve just leans into her, his eyes closing and his shoulders relaxing.

 

Peggy’s subtle Alpha scent reminds him of vibrant tea leaves, like a blustery winter afternoon and a strong tea to warm your bones. Steve has loved Peggy ever since they met in their first year of college, nearly eight years ago now, and her scent has always brought him back to quiet evenings in with her during some of the most tumultuous years of his life. Just leaning into her makes Steve feel better. Knowing that he can let go of his headspace now, really let go with Peggy to take care of him, makes him feel even better.

 

“Would you like to change into something more comfortable?” Peggy asks into his hair. “Or are you alright like this?”

 

Steve wiggles his toes in his slippers and shrugs. “Maybe change,” he says.

 

Peggy presses another kiss into his hair. “Then why don’t you go change and I’ll make up your breakfast for you. Would you like to have some cocoa with breakfast, darling?”

 

Steve nods and slips out from under Peggy’s arm. Peggy resumes unpacking the paper sack as Steve takes the stairs back up to the loft.

 

Most of his clothes are hanging in the closet, but he has a dresser for his pajamas, socks, and underwear. In the bottom drawer, however, he keeps special clothes for when he needs to be little.

 

Steve has known his little side since he was about 22. It was actually Peggy that first encouraged him to try age regression and helped him figure out how to navigate his newfound little self. It was their third year of college, they had rented a tiny studio apartment together in Hell’s Kitchen, twenty minutes away from the NYU campus. They had gotten incredibly close even before that, but once they were living together, physical boundaries became lax. Peggy had noticed that Steve became very relaxed and calm with repetitive touch, even more so with cuddling and gentle praise. She had mentioned it to Steve and once Steve got over his embarrassment, she offered to give him that affection he responded so well to more often. At first, Steve had felt uncomfortable, thinking she meant a _relationship,_ but quickly Peggy explained that it could be completely platonic.

 

It went forward from there. Steve had opened Lady Liberty and moved into the apartment above it five years ago, and Peggy had moved to DC right after that. Peggy was scouted by SHIELD while they were still in college; they even paid for her to finish her criminal psychology degree and hired her right after she completed her Masters’. Up until then, the two of them spent a lot of time together, both as friends and as little and caregiver. Once Peggy moved to DC and Steve was living on his own, Steve was pretty much left to his own devices. He could regress partially on his own, but he never felt safe enough to fully let go without anyone there to keep an eye on him.

 

Steve hadn’t wanted to depend on Peggy so much, so he’d tried to find a new partner who also wanted to be his caregiver over the past five or so years. He didn’t date much to begin with and he’d tried looking for a partner on FetLife exactly once; it didn’t end well. After a while, he stopped looking for a caregiver and just looked for a boyfriend. He like women, sure, but he definitely preferred men.

 

(Particularly bears or beefy guys. Darcy had not been wrong that the height difference between Steve and Sam was adorable. Steve was a sucker for a big, strong man.)

 

After parting ways with Sam, though, Steve is tired of the dating game in general. Sam’s a great guy, sure, he just didn’t tick the one box on Steve’s list that he really needed. Sam didn’t want to be a caregiver and Steve had to admit that he needed to have that. That had been that.

 

“Would you like sunflower seeds on your bagel, darling?” Peggy calls up to him.

 

“Please!” Steve answers.

 

He kneels in front of his dresser and opens the bottom drawer. He has a few pairs of colorful fuzzy socks set off to one side, then a few stacks of comfy printed pajamas, and a couple pairs of rompers Steve bought himself on a whim for his birthday last year. Steve picks a pair of striped green and blue socks, then some fuzzy pajama pants printed with robots and a t-shirt to match the pants. He shuts the drawer with his foot and changes next to his bed, tossing his actual pajamas towards his pillows once he’s changed.

 

Steve makes a detour into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. On his way back down from the loft, he opens the chest at the foot of his bed and digs out his favorite stuffie; a worn, ragged vintage Winnie the Pooh bear that had been his mother’s and grandmother’s before him.

 

Steve takes the stairs down at a faster pace than he normally would. He lets himself skip, excited that he’s letting his little side out to play in full force for the first time in _forever._ Peggy looks up as Steve enters the room and she smiles warmly at him; Steve smiles back and moves to hug her.

 

“Hello, again, darling,” she chuckles. “What are your pronouns today, little love?”

 

Steve immediately wrinkles his nose. “Ew,” he grumbles. “Gender.”

 

Peggy laughs softly. “Indeed,” she says. “But would you like to tell me or should I assume they/them?”

 

Steve sits down on a stool and hugs his bear to his chest while he thinks. His gender is the only thing more complicated in his life than being a little; he’s genderfluid. Half the time, he’s somewhere along the lines of demiboy. He feels like a boy and he doesn’t mind being a boy, but he also doesn’t care much if he isn’t. Being little usually has him flipping from one end of the spectrum to the other, either fem enough to want to be a girl or masc enough to insist on being a boy. Then again, lately he’s been non-binary a lot.

 

“I don’ know,” Steve mumbles.

 

“They/them?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve gives a nod. “While I think?” he says. “I think I’m kinda a boy right now.”

 

“Whatever you need, darling,” Peggy answers calmly.

 

She pecks their cheek again and Steve lets themself smile and blush and hides their face in their bear. Peggy chuckles and pinches their cheek and Steve blushes some more.

 

“Shy today?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve nods. Peggy ruffles their hair.

 

“It’s alright,” she says. “I know it’s been a while since you got to come out and play, Stevie. It’s perfectly fine if you want to be shy.”

 

Stevie nods again and hugs their bear some more. They watch Peggy preparing herself coffee and them a cup of cocoa while the bagels toast and fill the kitchen with a warm, bready smell that reminds Stevie of their mother. As Peggy gets breakfast ready, Stevie thinks a little harder about what their pronouns are at the moment. The slight slide into little space they had just from Peggy being so affectionate and from their clothes and hugging their bear pauses while they think.

 

“I think I’m a boy,” Stevie decides. “But I might not be later.”

 

“Whatever you need, little love,” Peggy answers. “You know I’m here for you.”

 

Stevie slips off the stool and sets his bear down on it instead. He pauses to fuss and adjusts the bear's arms and legs, giving into his childish urges, then he walks around the counter and hugs Peggy from the back. Peggy sets a hand over his arms wrapped around her stomach and she pats his wrist. Stevie presses his face between her shoulder blades for a moment, then pulls back and stands on his tippy toes to kiss her cheek.

 

“Love you,” he says. “Can we watch cartoons with breakfast?”

 

Peggy turns around and taps a finger against his nose. Stevie giggles and grabs his nose, backing up quickly. Peggy smiles at him again.

 

“I love you, too, Stevie,” she says. “And we can watch cartoons all day if you’d like.”

 

“Yay!” Stevie says. He hugs her again quickly, then runs and grabs his bear and darts into the living room.

 

“No running inside!” Peggy calls after him.

 

“Oops,” Stevie mumbles.

 

He winces and sits down more sedately. Peggy waves a finger in his direction, then turns back to the toaster just as it pops up their bagels.

 

Stevie grabs the TV remote and switches it on. He finds Cartoon Network immediately, then puts the remote back down and curls up by the arm of the sofa with his bear and rubs his face into it as his eyes glue to the TV. He doesn’t particularly care about the cartoon itself at the moment, just that the colors are bright and everything is silly and fun.

 

Peggy enters with a tray, that she sets on the coffee table. Stevie sits up quickly and Peggy sits down beside him before handing him a plastic plate with two bagel halves on it.

 

“Eat up, little love,” she says, reaching up and ruffling his hair. “We’ll cuddle after breakfast, alright?”

 

“Okay,” Stevie answers easily.

 

It’s nice to finally let go. After they eat, Peggy leans back on the sofa and Stevie lies down to put his head in her lap. She pets him idly, combing her fingers through his hair, until Stevie is at ease and fully releases himself into little space.

 

“How old are you today, my darling?” Peggy asks him softly.

 

Stevie holds up his hands and wrinkles his nose from side to side for a second, then folds down four of his fingers.

 

“Six?” Peggy murmurs and he nods. She kisses his hair and Stevie smiles, cuddling his bear. “And are you still a boy?”

 

Stevie shrugs. “I dunno,” he mumbles softly. “Maybe so.”

 

“Well, you let me know if you don’t want to be anymore,” Peggy tells him and Stevie gives a small nod.

 

Peggy turns the TV off around eleven and instead, they play games for a while. “Too much TV is no good for little boys,” she says, and Stevie accepts it without hesitation because Peggy knows everything. They put together a jigsaw puzzle and play a board game, then Peggy makes grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch, frying slices of the fancy heirloom tomatoes she’d brought from South Carolina to go with them. They eat at the kitchen table that time, because the soup is too messy for the sofa.

 

“I think it’s time for your nap,” Peggy says around one o’clock.

 

“Okay,” Stevie answers easily, because he’s feeling pretty tired.

 

Peggy washes his face and hands for him, then tucks him into bed. Stevie grabs her wrist when she moves to go and looks up at her with wide eyes.

 

“Can you stay?” he asks softly.

 

Peggy smiles. “Of course, little love.”

 

Peggy gets in the bed with him and Stevie turns onto his other side so she can pull him against her chest. Stevie hugs his bear and Peggy hugs him, and Stevie falls asleep easily.

 

When he wakes up, Steve feels rested, relaxed, and at ease. He rolls over and finds Peggy awake, working on a tablet.

 

“Hi,” Steve whispers.

 

Peggy glances down at him and smiles. “Hello,” she says. “Are you still six?”

 

Steve shakes his head, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with his fingers, not his fist. “‘M twenty-seven, unfortunately,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course,” Peggy answers. She throws an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a side-hug. “You know that it’s as much of a relief for me as it is for you, darling.”

 

Steve nods and leans into her shoulder. Without his glasses, he can’t see what she’s doing on her tablet, but it looks like a video. The screen is mostly bright but for a dark spot in the center that Steve can guess is someone’s hair.

 

“What’chu doin’?” he asks.

 

“Confidential things,” Peggy sighs. “Sorry, darling.”

 

Steve shrugs. “I can’t see a damn thing anyway, don’t worry.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Peggy laughs. “Your eyes have gotten so much worse since I last saw you, I tried on your glasses while you were asleep. Good Lord, Steven!”

 

“Ha, ha,” Steve says dryly. He swings his legs out of bed and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “What time is’it?”

 

“Nearly four,” Peggy says, glancing at her tablet. “It is four. Four oh seven.”  


“Wanna go out for dinner?” Steve asks, dropping his arms. “My treat?”

 

“I would never let you pay, darling,” Peggy chuckles, lifting out of the bed as well. “Let me change?”

 

“I’ve got to change,” Steve points out, gesturing to his robot pajamas. “You can change downstairs.”

 

“Fair,” Peggy says, tucking her tablet under her arm. “Would you like to see a movie while we’re out as well?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says. “Nothing Disney-like, it might send me back into headspace.”

 

“Of course,” Peggy answers, taking the stairs down.

 

Steve changes into adult clothes, but he leaves on his striped socks, just because they’re warm and comfortable and he’s always a little bit little when he’s with Peggy. He puts on a pair of slightly baggy jeans and tucks the ends into Doc Martens, then a long-sleeved red henley over a plain white singlet that he tucks into his jeans. He grabs his phone and wallet, stuffing his pockets with them, and takes a second in the bathroom to fix his hair. His blonde roots are showing and the blue has faded from pastel blue to a dull chalky color, he’ll need to dye it again soon. Maybe he’ll let the blonde grow in and try to do an ombre dye job. He leaves the bathroom and makes the bed up before he goes downstairs. His bear goes back in the chest. Stevie’s pajamas go in the hamper. He can take them back out if Peggy’s willing to let him be little again tomorrow.

 

The cuffs of his shirt hang over his wrists as Steve heads down from the loft, letting his bony fingers stick out and look even longer than they normally do. Peggy’s halfway through changing when he walks downstairs, but neither of them care. Steve flops down on the couch, grabs his laptop, and starts looking up movie times.

 

“How do you feel about seeing a horror movie?” Steve asks.

 

Peggy pauses in buttoning up her blouse. “I’m fine with them,” she says. “But you are not.”

 

“I really wanna see _The Woman In Black,_ ” Steve tells her, looking up and pouting.

 

“That’s only because Daniel Radcliffe is in it,” Peggy says. “But when you have nightmares, I will cuddle you.”  


Steve smiles and looks down to shut his laptop and put it down. “Meet you downstairs?”

 

“Sure,” Peggy says. “Don’t forget your coat!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, already jogging down the stairs. “Leave the tablet here, workaholic!” he shouts over his shoulder.

 

*

 

The Soldier has no memory of Natalya. James thinks that once he might have smiled at her, but now he is too broken to attempt anything like that.

 

“How are you feeling today, James?” Natalya asks.

 

Her accent is perfect, you couldn’t tell she was originally from Russia. James suspects this is intentional.

 

“I’m alright,” James says softly.

 

He always speaks softly. He is too tired to raise his voice.

 

“Do you think you could tell me more about your history?” Natalya prompts.

 

James shrugs. All of his memories belong to the Soldier, but for a few precious glimpses of his three little sisters. Natalya tells him that the year is 2012. James is sure that it had been 19 something the last time he had seen his sisters, but certainly within the first half of the 20th century.

 

1941, maybe? 1942? James isn’t sure what’s so important about 1942.

 

“What’s the last mission you went on?” Natalya asks.

 

James sighs. “I don’t remember,” he lies.

 

He does not trust SHIELD. He does not think he can trust anyone. He certainly cannot trust Natalya. She tells him that _he_ trained her when she was a child. If he trained her, that makes her Hydra. If she’s Hydra, then what is SHIELD?

 

“You’ve been here for a while,” Natalya adds. She tips her head to the side, evaluating. “The doctors tell me you might be cleared for release.”

 

James lifts his gaze in inches. From the sheets on his cot to Natalya’s knee, to her elbow, to her shoulder, finally to her chin and then he just stops.

 

“Release?” he says. “Why?”

 

“Why not?” Natalya asks. “You may not remember your past, but we’ve been able to dig it up. You’re an American citizen. You were taken as a prisoner of war in 1943. Essentially, you’ve been a prisoner of war since then.”

 

“Why would they release me?” James asks, his voice scratching his throat. He hasn’t said this many words in a single go in a very long time. “Where would they release me?” he presses.

 

“Wherever you wish to go,” Natalya says with a shrug. “You could return to civilian life, if you so wished.”

 

James blinks at Natalya’s chin. Natalya looks at him with a frank but guarded expression.

 

“Of course, you could work for SHIELD,” she continues. “You could continue your mission against Hydra.”

 

“Hydra is dead,” James lies, because SHIELD is listening.

 

“I told you that I worked for the Red Room,” Natalya says.

 

She shifts on the bed and touches James’s knee, her expression becoming… Kind? James is not sure. He doesn’t recognize kindness.

 

“When I realized what I was doing for them,” Natalya says, “I wanted to make up for it. I killed innocent people, James.”

 

James says nothing. He knows he’s killed innocents. He’s killed children. He’s killed infants. He’s killed babies that their mothers hadn’t yet given birth to.

 

“SHIELD gave me the chance to pay back my debt to humanity,” Natalya tells him. “They want to give you the same chance.”

 

“And if I say no?” James asks.

 

Natalya shrugs. “You go free. We’ll keep an eye on you, but you’ll be free to do whatever you wish. Open a bakery somewhere.”

 

“I don’t have any money,” James mutters, his chest gripping with panic.

 

What could he do as a civilian? Why didn’t SHIELD just want to stick him in another cryo chamber?

 

“You do, actually,” Natalya says calmly.

 

She must be able to smell his panic. James can see her nostrils twitching.

 

“Since you were a prisoner of war,” Natalya says, “the past seventy or so years count as active duty. Your old bank account has been reinstated, with the original balance and interest added for the past seventy years, and the military has deposited backpay for your time as a POW. So –”

 

Natalya shrugs. “You’re actually quite rich.”

 

“I don’t know what to do with that,” James says. “I – I can’t be a civilian.”

 

Natalya squeezes his knee. “SHIELD can help you,” she tells him.

 

James drops his gaze from her chin to her hand on his knee as an invisible fist squeezes the breath from his lungs. He rolls his last bullet around in his mouth, tucking it under his gum again. He can’t be a civilian. He surrendered to SHIELD because he thought they would lock him up somewhere and let him rot to death.

 

But of course they want to turn him. Natalya is here, and Natalya was once like him.

 

“I’ll do it,” James says.

 

He still has the Soldier in him. And if SHIELD is Hydra, then the Soldier is going to find every last Goddamn head and take the beast down.

 

James is too tired and worn to be a man. All he is is a soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _all the soft started this and then all the sad ended it. we're gonna get there, dw. see you next saturday!_


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i bring you nerdiness and then sadness. sorry._

#  **_THREE_ **

  
  


“I think we should do some kinda special for May the Fourth,” Darcy says, spinning a pen in her hands as she leans back in her chair.

 

“I think you should’ve mentioned that a little earlier than May third,” Steve remarks.

 

“Seriously,” Wade agrees. “It’s like you don’t even know the significance of tomorrow.”

 

Steve casts Wade a brief glance, but remains focused on the design he’s tattooing at the moment. “Of May the Fourth?” he questions. “Is there some other significance than Star Wars?”

 

“Yeah,” Wade says, then pauses as if he’s rethinking his sentence. “Then again, you probably won’t believe me.”

 

“How about half off on all Star Wars themed tats?” Darcy suggests.

 

"Half off on alien tats," Wade adds.

 

“How about twenty percent off on Star Wars tats,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows at the customer’s leg. “Half off is way too much.”

 

“Twenty-five percent,” Darcy says.

 

“Twenty,” Steve insists, flicking off his gun. He wipes off the tattoo, spreads some gel on it to help the ink set and skin heal, then bandages it. “You’re done, Tom,” he says. “Darcy will check you out and give you after-care instructions.”

 

“Thanks,” Tom answers, getting up. “I’ll see you in a coupl’a months when I get the itch to add another one.”

 

“Alright,” Steve laughs, giving Tom a fist-bump. “Take care’a ya’self, Tom.”

 

“You, too,” Tom says, walking around to the front desk.

 

Darcy jabs her pen at Steve, then spins her chair around to check Tom out. Steve sets about cleaning up his station and Wade wanders over.

 

“Hey, you got insurance on that window, right?” he asks.

 

Steve glances up at him, then over his shoulder at his painstakingly designed window art. “Yeah,” he says carefully. He turns back around and squints at Wade. “Why?” he questions.

 

Wade shrugs. “Just got a feeling,” he says. “Not sure if it’s good or bad yet.”

 

“Oh, no,” Steve says, his shoulders deflating. “Your feelings are never good, Wade. What’s happening to my window?”

 

“Hey,” Wade says defensively, “I had a great feeling about that time you hired Vanessa.”

 

“You had a great feeling about it because you promptly started fucking her,” Steve returns. “Where is she right now, by the way?” he adds, putting his hands on his hips and doing his best to look sternly at the 6’2” disabled and disfigured Iraq vet in front of him despite the fact that he, Steven Grant Rogers, is five foot nothing and weighs in at a whopping 115 pounds on a good day. “Her break ended fifteen minutes ago and you were conspicuously absent during her break, too.”

 

“I was taking my federally required smoke break,” Wade says.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows.

 

“It was her idea,” Wade blurts. “We didn’t have sex in the shop!”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna fire youse two one’a these days,” he threatens with a jab of his finger.

 

“He won’t!” Darcy calls. “He can’t replace you two because nobody wants to work in this freezing as shit building!”

 

“That is not the only reason!” Steve snaps.

 

Darcy waves her pen back at them. Steve sighs.

 

“We close in a minute, anyway,” he says.

 

“We do?” Wade asks, frowning. “It’s five o’clock?”

 

“We’re open until three AM tomorrow,” Steve reminds him, raising his eyebrows. “Because it’s May the Fourth? And a Friday?”

 

“So you did plan something special!” Darcy calls.

 

“Focus, Darcy!” Steve answers. “I sent all of you emails.”

 

“I never read my emails,” Wade says. “But I can do it anyway.”

 

“I am not doing that,” Darcy says, “I have homework.”

 

“You’re excused,” Steve tells her with a wave of his hand. “College is hard.”

 

“So hard,” Darcy whimpers pathetically.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. Vanessa chooses that opportunity to walk in and slaps Wade on the ass as she enters. 

 

“What’s up, fuckers?” she greets.

 

“Stop having sex while you’re on the clock,” Steve tells her flatly. “Also, don’t do it in the alley! That’s so gross!”

 

“What are you talking about?” Vanessa asks, frowning.

 

“Do not try to deny –” Steve starts.

 

“We did it in the bathroom,” Vanessa cuts him off.

 

Steve scowls. Wade grimaces.

 

“Yikes, guys,” Tom says on his way out.

 

“If you keep having sex on this property I will stop giving you access to my kitchen,” Steve tells Wade and Vanessa.

 

Wade gasps. “No, but my fancy non-alcoholic apple cider!”

 

“It’s just sparkling apple cider, Wade,” Darcy says.

 

“No more sex on this property or during business hours,” Steve insists.

 

“Sorry,” Vanessa says.

 

“Forgive us, Daddy,” Wade adds.

 

Steve shakes his head and pushes past them. “Darcy, lock up, will you? Youse guys want dinner or what?”

 

“Yes, real food!” Wade cheers.

 

“I was gonna order takeout,” Steve says over his shoulder.

 

Wade runs past him. “Still real food!” he calls.

 

Steve glances at Vanessa as she falls into step beside him. “I should be concerned for him,” he says.

 

“Nah,” Vanessa answers. “I got ‘im.”

 

Steve sighs heavily. Why is he all of these people’s mom friend? Why is he anyone’s mom friend? He’s so much not a mom.

 

They get shwarma and at ten, when his employees are all still there playing Call of Duty, Steve tells them to lock up on their way out and heads to bed. 

 

“Darcy, stay until Wade and Van leave so they don’t have sex on my couch!” he calls over his shoulder.

 

“We wouldn’t have sex on your couch!” Vanessa protests defensively.

 

“‘Kay,” Darcy answers.

 

“I might be tempted,” Wade admits.

 

Steve pulls the curtain across the railing at the edge of his loft bedroom and blocks them out of view. He can still hear them, but that’s remedied by simply taking out his hearing aids.

 

Steve takes a shower and hums along to the song stuck in his head. He sits down in bed, dressed in fresh pajamas, and combs his hair by the light of his nightstand lamp. His undercut needs to be buzzed and the hair on top is getting a little too long. Steve holds the ends of his hair out from the top of his head and purses his lips, thinking. He might leave it this long. He kind of likes it.

 

Steve switches off the lamp and spends a few minutes sitting upright in bed, his eyes shut and just focusing on the darkness. 

 

“Tomorrow will be a good day,” he whispers even though he can’t hear himself.

 

Steve spends a few more minutes meditating. He lets the stress of the day leave and eventually, he opens his eyes into the faint light coming from the bathroom nightlight and gets his pill sorter from the nightstand. He shakes out the two pills, birth control and antidepressant, pops them into his mouth and swallows them with a gulp of water from the glass stashed on his nightstand. Then he leans back on the bed and gets under the blankets.

 

_ Tomorrow will be a good day, _ he mouths one more time before he falls asleep.

 

*

 

James has not been cleared for active duty for very long before Director Fury approaches him with an assignment.

 

“You ever heard of the Tesseract?” Fury asks.

 

James shakes his head. Of course, he has, however. The Soldier’s memory is long and bloody. Of course he remembers the Red Skull’s greatest failure.

 

“We found it last year,” Fury says. “But now, somebody from another planet has gatecrashed us and stolen it, along with one of my best agents and one of my scientists.”

 

“You want me to find it?” James asks.

 

“We’re working on it,” Fury replies. “We want you to bring in the guy who stole it.”

 

Fury drops a file onto the bench next to James. James picks it up and flicks it open, glancing over the information inside. He reads fast and absorbs information quicker. SHIELD scientists say it's because he’s enhanced. James thinks his ma once said it was because he was clever.

 

“He’s from another planet?” James questions. “This Loki?”

 

“Asgard,” Fury answers. “As in the Asgard of legends.”

 

James looks up. “I don’t know what that is,” he says frankly. He flips the file closed. “When’s the ship out?”

 

“As soon as you gear up,” Fury tells him, then gives him a nod. “So suit up, soldier.”

 

Fury takes James to a TAC room, where Natalya is waiting, already in full gear. She gives him a duffle bag and James opens it to find the muzzle looking back at him.

 

“It’s the same uniform,” Natalya tells him. “We figured it was best not to change anything.”

 

James gives a short nod. His skin crawls and his teeth hurt at the sight of the Soldier’s muzzle, but he will wear it if it keeps SHIELD from suspecting his loyalties. James reaches up to take off his shirt, then pauses and glances at Natalya. She raises an eyebrow half an inch. James clears his throat.

 

“My apologies,” Natalya says, bowing her head some. She turns around.

 

James is still uncomfortable but he changes anyway. He’s not sure why he’s uncomfortable to begin with; modesty was never a luxury awarded to the Soldier and not once in the months he spent under observation at SHIELD’s highest security prison, the Raft, did he feel squeamish at the thought of being seen in the nude.

 

He thinks it might be because Natalya is an Omega. James’s vague memories of his mother include a tirade on propriety when it came to Omegas.

 

James changes into his gear and finds that it fits just the same as the day he last wore it. He would’ve thought he might be smaller; he had lost weight in the Raft, surely. But the uniform feels form-fitting as always. Perhaps SHIELD had altered it without telling him?

 

“Are you decent yet?” Natalya asks.

 

“Fine,” James says, picking up the muzzle.

 

Natalya turns around and raises her eyebrows. James looks at the muzzle for a second longer, working his jaw and the final bullet he has kept in his mouth since SHIELD apprehended him months before. Then he lifts it to his face and straps it into place.

 

“Shall we go?” Natalya says.

 

James nods. The Soldier walks out with Natalya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _may the force be with you. also to be clear i know next to nothing about tattooing, so if i got some details wrong, sorry_


	4. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _another one of my fave lines is coming up, y'all. also, timing has been difficult as of late bc my laptop cord has decided to die and without it, i have no laptop. so i'm working on a borrowed one, which is okay bc my stuff is cloud-based and i've got a replacement cord en route, but ugh changes. also, today was my lil brother's birthday! and tomorrow is bucky's! fyi if you didn't see the teaser i posted a while ago to tumblr, keep an eye on me tomorrow. i got stuff for you. but anyway, ahead of us is a mixture of loki bullshit, meninism, and star wars. go forth._

#  **_FOUR_ **

  
  


“I told you putting discounts on Star Wars tats would be great for business,” Darcy says smugly.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbles. “I’m gonna need more artists at this point.”

 

The waiting room is packed full. The nerds have come out in full strength for May the Fourth. Steve has done half a dozen Star Wars-themed tattoos since the shop opened at ten, and it’s hardly noon.

 

“Hey, Ryan, right?” Steve greets their next customer. “How’re you doin’?”

 

“Great,” Ryan answers, sitting back in the tattoo chair. “Hey, I like that pin –”   
  


Steve glances down their chest at the denim vest they’re wearing, which is absolutely covered in pins and buttons. “Which one?” they laugh, looking up.

 

“The  _ ask me about my pronouns _ one,” Ryan says. “That’s really brave of you.”

 

Steve shrugs. “It makes my life easier. My pronouns change ‘cause I’m genderfluid, so people ask me about them every time I wear this pin.”

 

“What are your pronouns?” Ryan asks.

 

“Today,” Steve says brightly, “they/them. Thanks for asking, buddy.”

 

“Anytime,” Ryan says with a grin.

 

“So, let’s get down to business,” Steve says, clapping their hands together.

 

“To defeat the Huns?” Ryan jokes.

 

“I knew I liked you,” Steve says with a laugh.

 

May the Fourth starts great.

 

*

 

The Soldier finds Loki standing over a crowd of people on their knees. It ignites anger deep in him. The fact that they’re in Germany is not lost on him.

 

“Lay down your arms and come quietly,” the Soldier tells Loki simply.

 

“Ah,” Loki says, as though with some sense of great satisfaction. It puts the Soldier’s teeth on edge. “I’ve heard of you. The Winter Soldier. The man out of time. A true anachronism.”

 

“Lay down your arms,” the Soldier says again.

 

“Or you will what?” Loki asks with a smile full of too-white teeth.

 

The Soldier raises his rifle. “I assume you know how this works,” he says. “Bang, ouch, blood.” 

 

“You have some sass in you, Soldier,” Loki retorts with glee. “What fun. I was told that you were an emotionless machine. It was what you were made to be, was it not?”

 

The Soldier does not rise to the bait. There are two hundred people here or more, but they all are bowed low to the ground and if the Soldier misses, the bullets will pass over them harmlessly.

 

So the Soldier opens fire. Loki’s form shimmers and disappears.

 

“How quaint,” Loki says from behind him.

 

The Soldier spins around and fires again. He clenches his jaw as Loki merely vanishes and reappears elsewhere. The bullet sitting in his mouth makes his jaw ache, but the Soldier ignores the pain.

 

“Come on!” Loki calls. 

 

His form appears in several different places at once and the Soldier jerks, trying to discern which is the real Loki. 

 

“They told me you were the best!” Loki goads him.

 

The Soldier has no opportunity to respond as abruptly, the quinjet hovering above him suddenly starts blasting some kind of music. The Soldier jerks again as a red and gold robot flies in and sets down in front of him, hands raising to glow threateningly at Loki.

 

“What’s up?” the robot asks. “Hands to the sky, buddy.”

 

Loki’s many forms shimmer and condense. The Soldier moves on the robot, but Natalya’s voice cuts across his comm unit,  _ “That’s Tony Stark, he’s a friendly.” _

 

The Soldier aims at Loki again. Loki looks between the Soldier and the robot, then lays his scepter on the ground.

 

*

 

“May the Fourth be with you,” Steve says for the thousandth time that day. “Next, uh, Andrew? Andrew Birch?”

 

“Steve, you should take your lunch break,” Darcy whispers to them.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve says. “Hi, Andrew?”

 

“Hey,” Andrew says, smiling. He glances down at Steve’s vest and his smile turns quizzical. “‘Ask me about my pronouns?’” he reads aloud.

 

“They/them,” Steve says perfunctorily for the hundredth time today. “Shall we get started?”

 

“Yeah,” Andrew says, stepping past Steve towards the workspace. “But they isn’t a personal pronoun, is it?”

 

“It is, actually,” Steve answers. “Go ahead and have a seat,” they add, hoping Andrew will let it go and they can get to work on his tattoo.

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” Andrew laughs. “But, whatever, pal.”

 

Steve sighs. “Buddy, you can think whatever the hell you want,” they say, “as long as you respect me, we don’t got no problems. My pronouns are they/them because I’m non-binary today,” they say firmly. “Can we get started?”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Andrew says, holding out his arm. “I just want the Rebel Alliance symbol inside my elbow.”

 

“Are you allergic to anything?” Steve asks, picking up a stencil and a pen.

 

“Nah,” Andrew says.

 

Steve gives a nod and starts sketching the design on Andrew’s arm. It’s a short and simple one, shouldn’t take them more than half an hour to do.

 

“But, like, are you a boy or a girl?” Andrew asks.

 

Steve pauses. “Pardon?” they ask without looking up. Strike two, they think.

 

“Are you a boy or a girl?” Andrew repeats.

 

Steve sighs and sits up, putting the cap back on their sharpie.

 

“‘Cause, like, I can’t tell,” Andrew says. “You’re an Omega and you don’t have much of a rack –”

 

“I’m non-binary,” Steve tells him. “So, neither.”

 

Andrew frowns, then laughs. “That’s not a thing, pal,” he says.

 

“Right,” Steve says, pushing back their chair. “Door’s over there,” they say. “You can show yourself out.”

 

“What?” Andrew says, his frown dropping into a true look of confusion.

 

“Leave,” Steve tells him. “Now. I have other customers to attend to.”

 

“But –” Andrew starts, glancing down at his arm.

 

“I told you you could respect me or not,” Steve cuts him off. They point to the door. “You picked not, so I’m reserving my right to refuse service. Please leave.”

 

“Hey,” Andrew says quickly, “I didn’t do anything –”   
  


“You’re mocking my gender to my face,” Steve snaps.

 

They hear the buzzing of tattoo guns pause and sees Wade and Vanessa looking up in the blurry corner of their eye. Andrew looks shocked, like he didn’t expect his casual transphobia to be faced with consequences.

 

“You can’t do this,” Andrew says.

 

“I can,” Steve tells him. 

 

“I wanna talk to the guy in charge,” Andrew retorts sharply.

 

“You’re talking to them,” Steve answers with a sickly sweet smile.

 

Wade gets up, stripping off his gloves. “Can I do the thing, boss?” he asks.

 

“You may leave under your own power or my employee’s,” Steve tells Andrew brightly.

 

“But –” Andrew starts.

 

Steve snaps their fingers. Wade grabs Andrew by the back of his shirt and lifts him bodily from his chair. Andrew shouts and tries to wiggle free, but Wade carries him out of the shop with ease. Darcy jumps up and gets the door for him and Wade tosses Andrew out onto the street.

 

“May the Fourth be with you, asshole!” Steve shouts after him.

 

*

 

“This doesn’t feel right,” James says under his breath.

 

Loki sits in restraints at the end of the quinjet. He is docile and polite. The file said Loki would try to trick them at every step.

 

“Relax, Mr. Freeze,” Tony Stark tells him. “We’ve got him. We’re solid.”

 

James casts a glance towards Loki once more. He doesn’t answer Stark.

 

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t like me?” Stark asks, his metal fingers tapping together annoyingly. “You’ve barely spoken two words since I showed up.”

 

James turns away to watch Loki more closely as Stark claps his metal hands together and holds them just under his nose, like he’s praying.

 

“I sense Greatest Generation Bullshit,” Stark says. “Do you have a problem with me being an Omega and a man?”

 

James glances once at Stark. “No,” he says shortly, trying not to betray the fact that he hadn’t realized Stark is an Omega. He really is off his game.

 

“That sounds super fake,” Stark whispers. “Okay. I’m gonna just go stand in my corner and ignore you because I didn’t become the richest fuckin’ dude in America to be judged by Robocop.”

 

James twitches his metal arm. “Wouldn’t you be the Robocop?” he questions, confused.

 

“Haha, funny,” Stark answers shortly. His faceplate flips down. “Bye, Felicia,” Stark says, turning on his heel.

 

James does not understand, nor does he care. There is a slight rumble of thunder outside and Loki is suddenly looking nervous.

 

“What’s the matter?” Stark asks, apparently noticing Loki’s obvious discomfort as well. “Afraid of a little thunder?”

 

“I’m not overly fond of what follows,” Loki says softly, his eyes searching the roof of the quinjet.

 

The jet suddenly shakes and James and Stark both lose their footing. The gangplank of the jet is ripped open and a man – a  _ man  _ – swings into the cargo hold. James pushes to his feet but Stark gets in his way; by the time James shoves Stark aside and scrambles up, the man has taken Loki and is gone.

 

“Shit!” James gasps.

 

Shit. Huh. James hadn’t been aware he was one to cuss.

 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Stark screams, launching out of the jet.

 

“Shit,” James repeats.

 

“That was Thor!” Natalya yells from the cockpit, where she’s valiantly trying to stabilize the jet. “He’s another Asgardian, like Loki!”

 

James grabs a parachute and starts strapping it on.

 

“I’d sit this one out, James!” Natalya calls. “These guys are basically gods!”

 

“All due respect,” James shouts over the sound of the wind, “I don’t know what God is!”   


 

James jumps out of the back of the jet after Stark and the Asgardians.

 

*

 

“Is it only two o’clock?” Vanessa sighs, wiping her brow with a tissue. “Jesus, it feels like we’ve been working for hours!”

 

“Go take your lunch,” Steve tells her. “I’ll take the next customer.”   


 

“Yo, Steve!” Darcy shouts. “Phone call for you!”

 

“Bring it over?” Steve answers, busy etching the Millenium Falcon into yet another arm.

 

Darcy walks over and tucks the shop’s landline under Steve’s ear. Steve pins it against their shoulder and gives half their attention to the phone call and half to their customer.

 

“Lady Liberty Tattoos and Piercings,” they say in a quick but professional tone. “This is Steve Rogers, owner and manager.”

 

_ “Hello, darling,” _ Peggy’s voice surprises them. _ “A little bird told me you haven’t taken your lunch break yet?” _

 

“Darcy!” Steve yells.

 

_ “Don’t blame her,” _ Peggy says while Darcy cackles by the front desk.  _ “Blame yourself, because you should’ve eaten lunch an hour ago.” _

 

“I’m not a child, Peggy,” Steve snaps.

 

_ “Am I calling you Stevie?” _ Peggy replies calmly.  _ “Are you twenty-seven or are you four? Go take your lunch.” _

 

Steve opens their mouth to retort and the line disconnects. Steve grabs the phone from under their ear and throws it towards Darcy, scowling heavily.

 

“Everything alright?” Tiffany, the customer, asks.

 

“My friends are ganging up on me,” Steve grumbles. “It’s whatever.”

 

Tiffany just nods and returns to her phone. Steve refocuses on her arm.

 

“What if we took our lunch breaks at the same time?” Vanessa suggests. “There’s leftovers in the fridge from last night.”

 

“Wade, can you handle being on your own for half an hour?” Steve counters.

 

“I’ll have Darcy!” Wade defends himself.

 

“Yeah, he’ll have me!” Darcy adds.

 

“Darcy isn’t an artist,” Steve points out. “Will you be fine?”

 

Wade waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. You two take a half.”

 

Steve flicks their eyebrows up once and sets about finishing Tiffany’s tattoo. It takes them another five minutes, since it’s just a black shape, then they bandage it and send Tiffany on to Darcy to check out and receive aftercare instructions. 

 

“Come on,” Vanessa says immediately, grabbing Steve’s shoulder.

 

*

 

“YOU WANT ME TO PUT THE HAMMER DOWN?” Thor roars.

 

_ Shit, _ James thinks.

 

The Soldier raises the metal arm like a shield. Thor flies at him almost in slow motion. James ducks, holding out his hand.

 

The hammer strikes his open palm and Thor goes flying backward. James staggers for a second, his mind whiting out in pain signals from the arm. Stark powers down his repulsors and James stands upright. Thor pushes to his feet weakly.

 

“Are you done?” James snaps.

 

Thor pants heavily but doesn’t answer. Stark glances between James and Thor as if he doesn’t know which of them is the bigger threat.

 

“‘Cause we got bigger fuckin’ issues,” James continues. “So can we settle this like grownups instead’a toddlers and quit throwin’ tantrums?!”

 

Stark drops his hands, turning to face James fully. Somehow, the Iron Man faceplate shows complete and utter shock.

 

James grabs the back of Loki’s robe and starts dragging him back towards the quinjet. He walks right past Thor, who says nothing. As James starts to get further away, he hears Thor and Stark fall into step behind him. James is too exasperated to feel pleased.

 

*

 

“Feel better?” Vanessa asks Steve.

 

Steve shrugs. “I could use another IV treatment of coffee,” they admit. “But sure.”

 

Vanessa laughs and pats Steve on the back. “You and me both, honey.”

 

*

 

Stark is blabbering about something James has no clear grasp on. Neither do most of the SHIELD agents that Fury has gathered in the command center of the helicarrier, by the looks of it. Dr. Banner appears to understand, but he also looks confused about something else at the same time. James just doesn’t get it.

 

“When did you become an expert in astrophysics?” Agent Hill asks Stark snappishly.

 

“Last night,” Stark says simply. “Did no one else do the homework?” he asks. He spreads his hands, looking around. “C’mon, guys.”

 

“What I wanna know,” Director Fury cuts in, “is how Loki turned one of my best agents into his own, personal flying monkey.”

 

“Flying monkey?” Thor questions, glancing around. “I do not understand.”   


 

“Welcome to the club, pal,” James grumbles.

 

*

 

Steve doesn’t get another chance to take a break once their lunch is up. The waiting room is still full despite the fact that all the scheduled appointments for the day have been completed and sent home. Steve guesses that today is just the day that everyone decided it was time to get a tattoo. They regret putting the  _ WALK-INS WELCOME! _ sign on the front door.

 

“Jodie?” Steve calls.

 

A bleach-blonde white lady gets up and walks closer. Her nose immediately wrinkles. 

 

“I thought this place was run by a man?” she says in thick, Western twang.

 

“Why don’t we skip the hassle and you just find a different tattoo artist?” Steve asks with a sigh.

 

Jodie juts her jaw out. “Maybe I will,” she snaps, “if you don’t curb that attitude.”

 

Steve sighs again, then turns around. “Wade!” he calls.

 

“Two seconds!”

 

Steve turns back to face Jodie. “You can go ahead and walk yourself out or my employee will do it for you,” they say simply. “Your choice, sweetheart.”

 

“Jesus, fine,” Jodie grumbles. “Fuckin’ girl-boy…”   


 

Steve grits their teeth as Jodie turns and makes her way out. They grab the sign-in sheet and just call the next name.

 

“You needed me?” Wade calls.

 

“Never mind,” Steve says. “Is Alice still here? Alice!”

 

*

 

Natalya is arguing with Stark. Stark is arguing with Thor. Thor is arguing with Fury. Fury is arguing with Dr. Banner. Dr. Banner is arguing with Natalya.

 

Behind the arguments, James is staring at Loki’s scepter. The crystal in it glows strangely. James is not sure when he got so close to it, but he’s close enough to reach out and touch. To make these morons shut their fucking traps.

 

“James,” Natalya says abruptly.

 

“His name is  _ James?” _ Stark says incredulously.

 

“Put the scepter down,” Fury orders.

 

James tightens his knuckles. The metal arm whirs. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly. “Not until you explain why you have the blueprints to Hydra weapons on your ship.”

 

“Yeah, let’s revisit that,” Stark says.

 

“Don’t agree with me,” James snaps. “You’re one of them!”   


 

“One of  _ them? _ ” Stark repeats. “Are you serious?”

 

“James!” Natalya snaps. “Put down the scepter!”   


 

“I want some answers!” James shouts.

 

The helicarrier suddenly quakes. James almost loses his footing; he staggers and grabs onto the table behind him for support, but others in the room are not so lucky. The floor gives in and Natalya and Dr. Banner both fall out of sight. Thor grabs Fury at the last second and saves him from falling any further. Stark grabs onto James’s leg. James throws the scepter away from him and grabs Stark’s wrist, hauling him away from the gaping hole in the floor.

 

“Suit up?” Stark asks breathlessly.

 

“Suit up,” James agrees.

 

*

 

“I made a sign,” Darcy says.

 

Steve looks up. Darcy holds up a pad of paper for them to see. It reads:  _ Ask Us About Our Pronouns! _ and under that,  _ If you don’t like it, leave. _

 

“Aw,” Steve chuckles. “Darce, that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to do that, Wade enjoys throwing out assholes.”   


 

“I thought it might be helpful, considering the rush,” Darcy says with a shrug. “Also since all the fanboys are apparently meninists.”

 

“Men have enough rights!” Wade abruptly shouts.

 

“Can I get that tattooed on my forehead?” the customer Steve is currently working on jokes.

 

*

 

_ “THE LEVER!”  _ Stark screams.

 

“I’m kinda busy, Tin Man!” James screams back.

 

_“THE FUCKING LEVER!”_ Stark just screams again.

 

*

 

“Steve!” Darcy shouts. “I have a managerial problem for you?”

 

“What’s up?” Steve answers.

 

A new customer walks up as Steve is cleaning up his station. He looks like he’s high off his ass.

 

“Do you guys do, like, dick piercings?” he asks.

 

Steve blinks. “No,” he says eventually.

 

“Aw, man,” the customer asks.

 

“Sorry, dude,” Steve says. They clap the customer on the shoulder and gently guide him away. “May the Fourth be with you.”

 

“And also with you,” the guy answers, actually bowing to Steve before leaving.

 

Vanessa nudges Steve when they return to their station. “I’ve done dick piercings before,” she says.

 

“That guy was clearly stoned,” Steve answers. “He can try again when he’s sober if he really wants it.”

 

*

 

Agent Coulson is dead. Loki has gotten away. James… James doesn’t know what to do know.

 

He’s alone with Stark. Stark is upset, it’s clear; the two of them stand in the holding bay for the Hulk’s glass box and the air reeks of Stark’s confusion, anger, hurt.

 

“Was he married?” James asks, though he doesn’t know why.

 

“No,” Stark says. “There was a – a cellist, I think.”

 

James doesn’t know what that means.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking away from Stark. “Coulson… He seemed like a good fella.”

 

“Jolly good fella,” Stark bites out bitterly. He shakes his head, scoffing. “He was an idiot.”

 

James looks up, confused. “Why?” he questions

 

“For taking on Loki alone,” Stark snaps. “He should’ve – Should’ve waited until – He was out of his league!”

 

“Maybe so,” James agrees quietly. “But sometimes… There isn’t always an easy way out.”   
  


Stark scoffs again, stepping down from the dais. He shakes his head again, like denying Coulson’s death with fix things somehow.

 

“Right,” Stark mutters. “I’ve heard that before.”

 

James pushes off the wall, moving closer to Stark even though the scent of distressed Omega is putting his teeth on edge; something is telling him that he must fix this, that he’s responsible for calming this Omega that he’s just met, and James thinks that it might have something to do with the fact that Stark’s scent reminds him of his sisters.

 

“Is this the first time you’ve lost a soldier?” James asks.

 

“We are not soldiers!” Stark snarls in answer. 

 

James tips his head to the side, considering. “You’re not a soldier,” he says and Stark rears back a little. “But Coulson was,” James continues. “I am.”

 

Stark clenches his jaw, looking away. James holds his hand out, refusing to back down even as the air in the room gets even sourer.

 

“And whether you like it or not,” he says, “the second you put on that robot suit, you volunteered to get drafted into battle.”

 

“I am not marching to Fury’s fife!” Stark says angrily.

 

“Neither am I!” James snaps back. “I don’t trust SHIELD, no matter what Fury says, something stinks and it ain’t Loki’s shit.”

 

Stark takes a step back, his expression closing off. James is not deterred.

 

“But right now, we gotta deal with Loki’s shit,” he says. “So we need to focus on that. Loki needs a power source, you said it yourself, something –”

 

“Loki made it personal,” Stark cuts James off abruptly.

 

“Personal?” James prompts.

 

“That’s Loki’s point,” Stark insists. “He hit us all right where we live, why?”

 

“To stir the pot?” James questions, feeling like a sounding board.

 

“Yeah, divide and conquer,” Stark muses, his gaze slipping away from James’s as he thinks aloud. “That’s all well and good, but he knows he still has to take us all out. He wants to beat us, he wants to be seen doing it –” Stark snaps his fingers. “He wants an audience.”

 

“Okay,” James says, a little bit confused but trying to follow. “Like… Like in Germany?”

 

“Yeah!” Stark says, stepping past James as he continues to think verbally. “But that was just previews, this is opening night! Loki, he’s a full-tilt diva, he was flowers, he wants parades, he wants a – a monument built to the skies with his name plastered on it –”   
  


Stark stops abruptly, his expression frozen.

 

“He wants fanfare?” James suggests.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Stark says, then bolts from the room.

 

“What just happened?” James mutters, but follows.

 

*

 

“I think it’s gonna rain,” Darcy announces. “There’s clouds over Manhattan.”

 

“Maybe the witch is back in Trump Tower,” Wade suggests.

 

“That’s an insult to witches,” Steve counters.

 

*

 

“Natalya,” James calls, striding into her room, “it’s time to go –”

 

Agent Barton steps out of the bathroom. James glances towards Natalya, but she just nods. Agent Carter is standing by as well, looking grim but unafraid. James redirects his gaze on Barton, but since he doesn’t have the creepy icy blue glow to his eyes, he guesses Loki’s spell has been reversed.

 

“You got a suit?” James asks.

 

“Yeah,” Barton says.

 

“Then suit up,” James orders.

 

*

 

“Blessed silence!” Wade shouts. “There are no more customers!”

 

The bell rings. Steve and Vanessa both shoot Wade angry glares. Wade winces.

 

“Oops?” he says.

 

“Hi, welcome to Lady Liberty Tats,” Darcy greets.

 

“I was just wondering if you guys had a phone I could borrow,” the newcomer says.

 

Steve collapses back into the tattoo chair with relief. Darcy lets the visitor, clearly a tourist, use the phone and Steve shuts their eyes for a few seconds of rest.

 

“Can we not stay open until 3?” Vanessa asks when the tourist leaves.

 

“Darcy,” Steve shouts. “Change the sign. We close at the normal time today.”

 

“Hallelujah!” Wade shouts.

 

“Hey, guys?” Darcy calls. “Remember those storm clouds?”

 

Steve lifts their arm off their eyes and sits up. Darcy is standing near the doors to the shop, looking out the window towards the Manhattan skyline. Steve leans forward, then gets up and crosses to stand beside her. Wade and Vanessa follow them and the four of them line up in front of the windows.

 

“That doesn’t look like rain,” Darcy says carefully.

 

“Looks like locusts,” Vanessa remarks.

 

“I officially have a bad feeling about this,” Wade announces. “But also strangely good?”

 

The store phone rings.

 

*

 

“The portal’s already open,” Natalya tells them.

 

“I need to make a call,” Agent Carter says.

 

James glances after her as she hurries away from the cockpit of the quinjet. He turns back to look outside, watching as the sky above Stark Tower splits open.

 

“This is gonna suck balls,” James mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I sense Greatest Generation Bullshit." that's, like, a t-shirt worthy thing. i wish i could use it on my grandma now and then. anyway, aliens!_


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _anybody want shwarma? there's a shwarma joint two blocks from here, i don't know what it is, but i wanna try it_

#  **_FIVE_ **

  
  


“Aliens,” Barton grits out. “And they look like the Predator, too.”

 

“Now’s not the time, Clint,” Natalya snaps.

 

Carter, behind them, is arguing with someone on the phone. James is listening in.

 

“You need to get out!” she’s insisting. “All of you, just get out of New York now!”

 

“Carter, touchdown in ten seconds!” Natalya shouts.

 

“Just run!” Carter snaps into her phone.

 

James pushes his tac goggles on and turns on his heel to cross the jet to the gangplank. Agent Carter has hung up and now she looks afraid. He tunes that information out. He has work to do.

 

The gangplank starts to open and the Soldier runs. He hits the ground and rolls, finding destruction and panic all around him already. He draws a sidearm and shoots a giant-ass alien in the face, then swings his rifle off his back and starts mowing them down one by one. 

 

“There are civilians trapped in the buildings!” Agent Carter shouts behind him. “James, Barton, you two keep the aliens occupied!”

 

“On it!” James replies.

 

“It would be my genuine pleasure!” Barton answers.

 

The aliens use some kind of energy discharge weaponry that hurts like a bitch every time James deflects it with his metal arm. Of course, he doesn’t  _ stop _ using his metal arm as a shield. He grits his teeth and moves with the pain.

 

It becomes clear that fighting the aliens will do nothing if the portal isn’t shut. Agent Carter steps in as their de facto leader; she coordinates with local police, organizes their attacks, works with Stark and Thor to work together like soldiers while Barton and Natalya function as a team already. The Hulk can’t be controlled, but Agent Carter finds a way to reason with him.

 

She points at the biggest alien craft and just says, “Smash!”

 

The Hulk grins at them before launching into the air.

 

When it comes to James, Agent Carter doesn’t seem to have much to say.

 

_ “Carry on, Soldier,”  _ she tells him.

 

James carries on.

 

The aliens – Chitauri, apparently, take more than a few rounds to the face to go down mostly. James loses track of time; he gives himself to the fight, focuses on tracking down every last Chitauri loose in Midtown, until Stark’s voice cuts into the fog of battle with a sudden warning.

 

_ “I got a bogey heading in.” _

 

James shoots an alien in the eye and jumps on top of a van in order to get a better view. “Who sent it?” he calls.

 

_ “World Security Council,” _ Stark says.

 

_ “I can close the portal!”  _ Natalya calls.

 

_ “Not yet!” _ Stark shouts.  _ “I know where to send the nuke, just give me a second!” _

 

James takes off running towards Stark Tower. He keeps his gaze on the sky, until he spots Iron Man guiding a missile through the air towards the portal.

 

_ “Widow, be on the ready to shut down the portal!” _ Carter orders.  _ “Iron Man, you have thirty seconds.” _

 

_ “Copy,” _ Natalya says.

 

James runs as fast as he can, continuing to shoot down any Chitauri he spots as he heads for the center of Midtown. He keeps an eye on Stark between the buildings, but the Tower is too far away; Stark enters the portal while James is still blocks away.

 

_ “I have to close the portal!”  _ Natalya shouts.

 

_ “Iron Man!” _ Carter calls.  _ “Stark!” _

 

James shoots another Chitauri, but another one nearly catches him as he’s so distracted by Stark not coming back through the portal. He can see the distant explosion of the nuke, and on Earth, all the Chitauri fall to the ground.

 

_ “I have to close it!”  _ Natalya says.  _ “It’s going to destabilize and blow us all to hell!” _

 

_ “Close it,” _ Carter says.

 

“But –” James starts.

 

_ “Close it!”  _ Carter yells.

 

The portal groans. James runs and leaps onto the wreckage of an overturned bus to get higher.

 

“Stark!” he calls through the comms.

 

The portal crackles at the edges and winks out. The ground shakes as the rift in space seals itself. James’s breath catches in his throat. Then he spots something falling from the sky and he takes off running again.

 

_ “Widow, do you have eyes on Iron Man?!”  _ Carter yells.

 

_ “I have eyes!” _ Natalya answers.

 

Stark is falling, not flying, falling. 

 

“He’s not slowing down!” James shouts.

 

James has no hope of catching him, but then a blur of green soars through the air. The Hulk catches Iron Man, crashes into a building and then to the ground in an earth-shaking collision. James skids to a stop near the crater made by the Hulk landing while Thor and Agent Carter come running in at the same time, just as the Hulk tosses Iron Man to the side; Stark goes rolling and lands on his back, then doesn’t move. 

 

James runs up and Thor rips Stark’s faceplate off. James drops to his knees and leans over Stark, trying to hear his breath. He hears nothing. James grabs the front of the suit with his metal hand; he grits his teeth and pulls, and slowly the metal peels back. James goes to give Stark chest compression, but abruptly Agent Carter grabs him and pulls him back.

 

“No, you can’t,” she says, “his heart implant would shatter.”

 

James falls back. Agent Carter releases his shoulder and James just sits there, panting hard. Stark lies motionless. Thor sinks to one knee, bowing his head. The Hulk staggers for a second, grunting nervously, then he stomps a foot and just roars.

 

Stark gasps and his eyes fly open. James sags in relief. The Hulk roars again and beats his chest like an ape as Stark pants on the ground. The Hulk stops roaring and stands there, looking pleased with himself.

 

“What the hell,” Stark mutters. “What just happened?”   
  


James pushes to his feet. All the Chitauri have died or powered down with the portal closed, leaving nothing for them to fight. He looks around at the wreckage and wonders who the hell is gonna clean this place up. Down the street, he sees a few cops poking out of their cover. Radio chatters around them. New York inhales.

 

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark says behind him. “What happened?”

 

“We won,” Agent Carter says.

 

James glances over his shoulder, then turns back around fully and just stands there, at a loss for what to do. Stark raises a hand and gives them all a thumb’s up.

 

“Yay,” he says weakly. “Let’s just not come in tomorrow. Take a day off. Hey, you guys wanna get shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here, I don’t know what it is but I wanna try it.”

 

“Yes,” Agent Carter sighs. “After we deal with Loki.”

 

“Shawarma after,” Stark says. “Great. Good. It’s a date.”

 

“Do you need me still?” James asks.

 

Agent Carter glances at him. “No,” she says. “You – You can go, Soldier.”

 

James gives a nod. He turns around and starts to walk away.

 

“You’re not gonna get shawarma with us?” Stark calls after him.

 

“Another time,” James answers without turning back.

 

James recognizes the streets even covered in stone dust and rubble. Midtown Manhattan turns into Lower East, then he’s crossing the bridge, slipping past barricades and roadblocks. The destruction isn’t so bad once he gets to Brooklyn, but there are still Chitauri scattered across the streets, still overturned cars and fires. Passing Navy Hill, James spots shattered windows and busted doors. Civilians running from the chaos, or running into it. People taking advantage of the destruction for their own gain. James sees cops stopping a man trying to escape a ruined bodega with nothing but bread and he wonders what the hell happened to the world.

 

“… Get back here, ya piece’a shit!” he hears someone yelling. “I’m gonna tear a strip off yo ass and make ya eat it for breakfast! Get back here!”

 

A kid goes running past James with an armload of cash. James sticks his foot out.

 

“Shit!” the kid screams, faceplanting into the ground. James puts his foot on the would-be robber’s back.

 

Another kid turns the corner, holding a baseball bat. James is startled by his appearance; his hair is mostly white with blue tinges to the ends, his arms are covered in tattoos, there’s a ring in his nose. His eyes, behind glasses with thick black frames, are the bluest James has ever seen.

 

“I had ‘im,” the boy complains, staggering closer and panting. 

 

He plants the bat on the ground and leans on it, his chest heaving. Closer, James catches the boy’s scent and is startled to mark him as an Omega.

 

“Where are your parents?” James asks him.

 

The Omega stands up straight and shows James his middle finger. “I’m twenty-seven, asshole,” he spits out. “What’s with the mask?”

 

James is taken aback. He’d forgotten he was actually wearing the mask. He reaches back and undoes the straps, then lowers it from his face completely. He takes a deep breath; the air is cool on his skin. He feels a little less tired all of a sudden.

 

“Wow,” the Omega says abruptly. “You’re, like, the most attractive dude I’ve ever seen in my life.”

 

James blinks. The Omega turns red like he hadn’t intended to say that aloud. James glances around, suddenly getting the feeling that this is not the place to be called attractive by another man, even if he is an Omega.

 

“Dude,” the robber under James’s foot spits out, “you’re super heavy. Can you get off before you crush my organs?”

 

James lifts his foot, then grabs the robber by the back of his jacket and lifts him off the ground entirely. James looks back at the Omega who’d been chasing him.

 

“What do you want to do with this meatball?” James asks. “I’m assuming he was robbing you?”

 

“Yeah,” the Omega says. “Probably should let ‘im go.”

 

James glances at the robber again. “You look twelve, kid,” he says.

 

“I’m seventeen!” the robber snaps.

 

“I’m still gonna knock your block off!” the Omega snarls. “So beat it before I change my mind!”

 

James drops the kid and the kid goes running. The Omega shakes his head as he goes to pick up the dropped cash.

 

“Seriously, what’s with the getup?” the Omega asks. “Not that I’m complaining about how those pants make your ass look.”

 

James glances around nervously again. He’s not sure why he’s uncomfortable being flirted at, if it’s because the Omega’s not a woman or because he’s not worth chatting up.

 

“I’m an Avenger,” James says. “Earth’s mightiest heroes or some bullshit.”

 

The Omega glances up, squinting. “What’s your name, pal?” he asks.

 

“Why do you wanna know?” James questions.

 

“So I can do this story justice later when my friends ask about the knight with a shining metal arm that saved me,” the Omega says, a smile curling his lip. “Humor me.”

 

James opens his mouth.

 

“Bucky,” he blurts.

 

The Omega gives a nod. “I’m Steve,” he says, sticking out his free hand. “You wanna continue this knight in shining armor thing and walk me back to my shop?”

 

James shakes Steve’s hand. It’s then that he notices the pins covering Steve’s jacket.

 

“Ask me about my pronouns?” James mutters aloud.

 

Steve laughs. “Buddy, you’re the thousandth person today to say those words in that exact same tone,” he says. “My pronouns are they/them today.”

 

James is confused, partially by  _ today _ and a little bit by  _ they/them. _ But he decides not to question it.

 

“Okay,” he says.

 

Steve smiles. His –  _ Their _ smile is…

 

Adorable? Charming? James isn’t sure.

 

“This way,” Steve says, pointing down the block. “D’ya think these robot things are really aliens?”

 

“Yeah,” James says. “I’m pretty sure.”

 

Steve laughs but doesn’t bring it back up. As the two of them walk, James looks down at his mask, then decides to put it back on. Steve doesn’t notice. Steve makes a turn into a building with a smashed front window and James peels off as soon as Steve is inside. He breaks into a jog and starts across the street.

 

“Hey!” Steve calls.   
  


James turns back, hesitating.

 

“Come inside!” Steve offers. “Take a load off? It’s tough fighting aliens, you deserve a break!”

 

“Another time,” James says.

 

“May the Force be with you!” Steve yells after him.

 

James looks back once but moves on. He turns away and tells himself he won’t look back again. A few blocks down, James glances over his shoulder. A different man is outside now, taping a sheet over the broken window with Steve’s help. James faces front again. He has a mission. He doesn’t need distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _may the force be with you!_


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _featuring more platonic steve &peggy feels and bucky, the bedraggled and sad-eyed stray cat_

#  **_SIX_ **

  
  


“Ohmygod, Steven Grant!” Peggy shrieks, almost falling through the doors to Lady Liberty. “Why are you the most fucking stubborn on God’s green Earth!”

 

“Oh –” Steve gasps as Peggy grabs him in a hug that actually lifts him off his feet. “I don’t know?” he wheezes. “You’re choking me!”

 

“I told you to get out of New York!” Peggy shouts. She puts Steve back on his feet and grabs his face instead, squeezing his cheeks together to force his lips into pursing. “I told you!”

 

“The aliens were in Manhattan!” Steve says with difficulty. “Stop squishing me!”

 

Peggy lets go of Steve’s face and instead grabs him into another hug, smashing him against her neck. Steve gives up and hugs her back.

 

“Can I get in there?” Wade calls.

 

“No!” Peggy says. “You’re all enablers!”

 

“Steve is literally the oldest of us,” Darcy says.

 

“Enablers,” Peggy mumbles.

 

Steve pats Peggy’s back. Peggy starts rocking him from side to side. Steve sighs, but he doesn’t fight her embrace. She’s clearly stressed.

 

“Where were you for this alien invasion, anyway?” Darcy asks. “How did you know it was coming before we did?”

 

Peggy lets go of Steve. Steve is startled by how worried she still looks.

 

“It’s classified,” Peggy says, not looking at Darcy. She touches Steve’s face again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“Peggy, I’m fine!” Steve insists. He grabs her wrist and squeezes it. “Seriously.”

 

Peggy gives a quick nod, then ducks in and presses a sharp kiss to Steve’s forehead. Steve takes it with dignity.

 

“What are your pronouns today, darling?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve smiles a little weakly. “He/him,” he says. “I don’t think pronouns matter much today, though.”

 

“Pronouns always matter,” Peggy mumbles. She steps back and looks around the shop now, taking in the damage. “Did the Chitauri get this far into Brooklyn?”

 

“One or two,” Steve says. “Most of this was done by panicking tourists.”

 

“There was a parade or some shit for May the Fourth,” Vanessa says. “Fortunately, we did, like, a hundred tattoos each before the alien shit happened.”

 

“Your window!” Peggy gasps suddenly.

 

Steve grimaces. “Yeah,” he says sadly. “That was an alien’s fault. One of ‘em crashed into it while it was trying to get away from some cops.”

 

Peggy turns around and grabs Steve’s shoulder, squeezing. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “You put so much work into painting that window.”

 

“It was insured,” Steve replies with a shrug. “It’s just a window. I can paint a new design.”

 

“Are there a lot of damages?” Peggy asks, looking around. “Will it cost much to repair them?”

 

“I submitted claims for all the damage already,” Steve says. He looks around, too, feeling sorry for himself and his poor shop. “I’ll have to close the shop for a while until repairs are made, but I don’t think a lotta people are gonna be lookin’ to get tattoos in the next few weeks.”

 

“We’ll help out,” Wade offers.

 

“That’s not necessary,” Steve starts to say.

 

“No, we’ll pitch in,” Vanessa insists. “This is your home, Steve, you deserve the help.”

 

Steve, at a loss for words, just smiles and nods, his gaze dropping to the dusty ground. The front window is boarded up now, something Steve and Wade threw together after a hasty trip to every hardware and lumber store in Brooklyn. It’s been two days since the abrupt alien invasion split open the sky above Midtown and there are still fires being put out all across the boroughs. Darcy, Wade, and Vanessa have been staying with him until the roads can be cleared; Darcy lives on campus at NYU and Wade and Vanessa live in Queens, routes to both places were only unblocked this morning. Brooklyn saw a lot of spillover from Manhattan, unfortunately, and in the aftermath of the aliens, people took it upon themselves to loot the wrecked buildings.

 

Steve is lucky that the worst damage to his shop was a smashed window and some busted drywall, but he’s even luckier that the one person that tried to take advantage of his chaos was stopped by the quick thinking of a stranger. One of the Avengers, even. The media has been going wild about the Avengers ever since the news broke; real-life superheroes, in New York. Some people don’t believe. Iron Man they can believe in, sure, the Hulk, or the mysterious SHIELD agents, Thor, even. The Winter Soldier? What kind of a name is Winter Soldier, anyway?

 

Steve has seen the Winter Soldier’s face. He’s not sure if anyone else had, because no one knows who he is. SHIELD claimed the Avengers as an elite team under their jurisdiction, Director Fury gave statements about everyone involved that he could. He said the Soldier was one of their special agents, like Black Widow or Hawkeye, and said nothing else for him.

 

Steve knows the Soldier’s name. Bucky. He wonders if even Peggy knows that; it sounds like a nickname.

 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbles eventually. “That means a lot.”

 

Peggy squeezes Steve’s shoulder again. “I’m going to be in New York for a few more days,” she says. “If you wouldn’t mind –” 

 

“You’re always welcome to stay here,” Steve interrupts her quickly. “Of course, Pegs.”

 

Peggy pulls Steve into another hug, her hands digging into his back. Steve lets her; something has her shook up, something big, and he suspects he knows what it is.

 

“You guys can go home,” Steve says to his employees when Peggy lets him go. “Take the week off, I’ll call you when I need you.”   


 

“You sure?” Vanessa asks.

 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Steve says. “I’ll do my best to give you PTO –”

 

“I’ll ask my parents for a handout,” Darcy interrupts. “You don’t need to give me PTO, buddy.”   


 

“I have a second job,” Vanessa admits. “We’re alright, Steve.”

 

Steve gives a nod. That’s a weight off his shoulders, at least. What traffic they had on Friday before the aliens – God, it feels so weird to be seriously discussing aliens – means that Steve has plenty to keep the lights on while the shop is closed, and thanks to his stinginess, he has enough to keep the fridge full until the shop can be repaired and brought back into working order. Everything is insured, too, down to the cash register.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Wade says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “I got nothin’ but good feelings from here on out.”

 

“You said you had a good feeling about the aliens,” Steve says, laughing softly.

 

“And you met that hot dude!” Wade answers, snapping his fingers into finger guns and grinning at Steve. “That was great!”

 

Steve shakes his head. “One run-in does not a friendship make,” he says firmly.

 

Wade shrugs. “Ya never know,” he says, winking.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Get outta here,” he says, grabbing Wade’s arm and steering him towards the doors. “Get some sleep in your own beds and I’ll call you when I need you.”

 

“Aw, your couch is more comfortable than my bed,” Darcy says.

 

“Go home,” Steve insists, then shoots Darcy a sympathetic glance. “But you can come back if you really need to crash on my couch.”   


 

Darcy gives him a smile.

 

His employees leave and Steve, after locking the doors, stands there in the wreckage of his shop for a minute before he waves to Peggy. They head upstairs, Steve pauses to set the alarm. In his kitchen, he puts the kettle on and gets out tea bags.

 

“Chamomile and lavender,” Steve announces. “Good for what ails ya, my ma always said.”

 

Peggy takes a seat at the breakfast bar and is silent as Steve makes tea. He puts milk and sugar in her mug and lemon juice with honey in his own and when the kettle whistles, he pours the hot water over both tea bags carefully. He adds spoons and weighs down the bags, then walks around and joins Peggy at the bar.

 

“What happened to you?” Steve asks.

 

Peggy picks up her mug and stirs it. She exhales heavily. Steve stirs his own tea and takes a careful sip.

 

“The Avengers,” Peggy says. “Fury’s making us into a real team.”

 

Steve chokes. He sets down his mug hastily and coughs hard to clear his throat; Peggy reaches over and slaps his back until his coughing eases off.

 

“You’re not saying –” Steve rasps.

 

“I am,” Peggy admits with a grave face. “It’s my team.”

 

“You’re –” Steve starts. He gasps with horror, grabbing Peggy’s arm. “You were in Midtown! You fought the aliens!”

 

“Yes,” Peggy says. “But you mustn’t tell anyone! It’s all highly classified and I’m breaking a thousand rules just to tell you this.”   


 

“I won’t tell,” Steve says quickly. He drops his hand to grab hers instead. “Peggy… You gotta promise me you’ll be careful.”

 

Peggy smiles a little regretfully and squeezes Steve’s hand. “I can’t promise I’ll always come out of things unscathed,” she says, “but I will promise that I’ll do my best.”

 

Steve wraps his arm around Peggy’s shoulders. Peggy leans into him, then she hugs him tightly and rests her head in his neck. Steve kisses the top of her head and rests his cheek against her hair, holding onto her tightly.

 

“What I’m really miffed about is my new call sign,” Peggy adds, laughing wearily. “It’s Captain America, Steve.”

 

“Captain what?” Steve laughs, leaning back.

 

“Captain America!” Peggy insists. She sits up and wipes at her eyes, smiling again despite the sudden tears. “The media dubbed me that because someone caught video of me using an American flag to tie up a few Chitauri. Doubt they even realize I’m English.”

 

“And, what, your boss decided it was best to change your call sign to that?” Steve laughs. “What was it before?”

 

“Agent 13,” Peggy says, sniffing. “I quite liked being Agent 13. Now Equipment is talking about giving me this star-spangled costume to go with my new call sign.”

 

“New equipment is always fun, though,” Steve points out.

 

“I guess,” Peggy muses.

 

Steve hooks his arm around her shoulders. “Wha’d’ya say we hit the sofa with some mac ‘n’ cheese and veg out for a while?” he suggests. “Get some R ‘n’ R in you?”

 

Peggy shrugs. She takes a deep breath and picks up Steve’s other hand, squeezing it.

 

“I don’t suppose –” she starts hesitantly. “Maybe –”

 

Steve squeezes her hand back. “We could both use it,” he says and Peggy smiles, nodding. Steve sticks out his cheek and Peggy chuckles before kissing it. “I’ll go change,” he says. “You wanna put on PJ’s too?”

 

“I think so,” Peggy says. “I don’t have any here, by chance?”

 

“I got somethin’ that’ll fit ya,” Steve promises, squeezing her hand. “I stole some sweats and shirts from Sam before we broke up and I still have ‘em.”

 

“You should give those back,” Peggy laughs as they get up. “Sam will surely notice soon.”

 

“Oh, he already noticed,” Steve counters, shooting her a grin. “He asked for them back in March, I told him that I was callin’ in favors from college to keep ‘em.”

 

Peggy shakes her head, smiling, as Steve leads her up to the loft. “You’re such a little pest,” she says fondly.

 

“But I’m a loveable pest,” Steve points out, “Sam let me keep the clothes.”

 

Peggy laughs again.

 

Peggy changes in the bathroom and Steve changes by his dresser; he puts on socks with monkeys on them and his robot pajamas and digs out his teddy bear from the chest by his bed. Peggy comes out in clothes that hang off her body but looking refreshed and Steve holds out his hand to her.

 

“I’m too little to walk down the stairs by myself,” he says with a cheeky grin.

 

Peggy smiles and takes his hand. They take the stairs back down and walk into the living room and take seats on the couch. Peggy puts her back to the arm of the sofa and Steve lies down between her legs, setting his head on her thigh and hugging his teddy bear between his chest and her knee. Peggy starts to pet through his hair as Steve picks up the TV remote and switching on the TV.

 

“I’m going to request a transfer back to New York,” Peggy says.

 

Steve looks up. “I thought you liked DC?” he questions.

 

Peggy shrugs one shoulder. “I do,” she says. “But there are other more important things. Fighting the Chitauri…” 

 

She trails off. Steve sets a hand on her shin and rubs up and down gently.

 

“One of my team members,” Peggy says, “the Winter Soldier…”

 

Steve closes his teeth. He doesn’t say anything.

 

“He was born in 1917,” Peggy continues. Her gaze is far away, her tone thoughtful. “He’s nearly a hundred years old. He doesn’t have friends, I believe. He doesn’t trust people. We found him nearly a year ago, we rehabilitated him, and we offered to let him go and become a civilian. He didn’t hesitate before signing up for SHIELD because he doesn’t know how to be anything but a soldier.”

 

“That’s sad,” Steve says softly, thinking of the distance in Bucky’s eyes.

 

“I don’t want to be like him,” Peggy says. “I want to fall in love with someone someday. I want to be close to the people I care about. I want to be able to see my family more than once a year.”   


 

She looks down at Steve and brushes through his hair again. “I want to take care of you more often,” she says. “Until I have my own little one to care for, until you have your own caregiver. I think I need that more than I thought.”

 

“You can always come to me,” Steve reminds her.

 

“I know,” Peggy says. “That’s why I want to come back to New York. This – This Avengers Initiative, once it gets off the ground, I’m going to resign from fieldwork. I don’t want to fight aliens and super villains. I want to get married someday but I can’t put my partner through all this much stress and anxiety over my job.”

 

Steve nods against Peggy’s leg and gives her knee a squeeze. “If that’s what you need to do,” he says. “I’ll be here for you.”

 

Peggy bends and kisses Steve’s temple. “I know you will,” she says and Steve can hear her smile in her voice. “Now, why don’t you relax, little love? There’s been enough excitement for one day.”

 

*

 

It takes a week for Steve’s insurance claims to go through, but what he gets back covers all of the repairs and the losses he had being closed until the shop’s fit for work again. The front window is replaced but, unfortunately, Steve doesn’t have time to paint it again. It goes on the list of things he’ll do one day, and at least it’s likely to happen sooner than he gets to visit the Louvre. 

 

Two weeks after the Chitauri invasion, Lady Liberty Tattoos opens for business again. Steve’s reputation, fortunately, saves him from having to stick to PB&J sandwiches at every meal for the few weeks after; people hear that his shop was damaged during the alien invasion and come out in full to get inked at his shop. An entire squad from the National Guard fills up his shop one day as they all get matching tattoos to commemorate their service in the Chitauri invasion. Steve gives them a discount.

 

“I think we should hire another artist,” Darcy suggests.

 

“Yannow what?” Steve says. “I think it’s time I did.”

 

Another artist means more expenses to pay, but the shop has been doing better and better over the past two years and Steve really does need to hire new blood to keep up with the demand. By June, he’s advertising for the position and receiving applicants.

 

The Sunday after Steve first opened the position, he closes the shop at the normal time. He sent Darcy home early because she had been looking exhausted thanks to finals finishing in the last week. It’s nearly ten and he’s alone, and he’s ready to go upstairs and take a long hot bath and then sleep through Monday entirely.

 

Steve flicks off the lights in the shop, sets the alarm, and steps into the back to go upstairs.

 

A dark figure stands in the middle of his makeshift office.

 

Steve screams and scrambles for anything he can use for a weapon, but the figure darts forward, moving into the light, and raises his hands in a non-threatening stance.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just me!” Bucky says.

 

Steve drops the stapler he’d grabbed and stares at the Winter Soldier casually standing in his office. He blinks.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bucky adds.

 

“Are you fucking insane?” Steve yells.

 

Bucky winces. “Sorry.”

 

“Sorry?” Steve shrieks. “What the hell are you doing, breaking into my shop like this! What the hell do you want?”   


 

“I –” Bucky starts, looking ashamed of himself. 

 

He hangs back, wringing his hands, and Steve’s panic dissolves just enough for him to notice Bucky’s unkempt appearance. A beat-up backpack hangs off his shoulder, his hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but it’s clearly laden with oils and grime, just as much as his unshaved face is. Bucky is still wearing the body armor he’d been outfitted in during the Chitauri invasion, and after a second, Steve gets a whiff of him and can only guess that he hadn’t actually taken it off once since then.

 

“Where have you been?” Steve demands, softer now. “You look like shit, pal.”

 

“I’ve been laying low,” Bucky says to the ground. “But – I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

 

“You wanna use my shower?” Steve suggests dryly.

 

Bucky winces. “Maybe,” he says. “Could I use your Internet?”

 

“My  _ Internet? _ ” Steve questions incredulously.

 

“I’ve been using public libraries,” Bucky adds. “I need – I’m trying to hunt down information. On SHIELD.”

 

Steve is taken aback. “On SHIELD?” he asks. “Why?”

 

“It’s a long story,” Bucky says. “I – I really didn’t mean to scare you, I just couldn’t let anyone know I was here. I know Agent Carter is your friend –”   


 

“Wait, how do you know that?” Steve cuts in, suspicious.

 

“I’ve kept tabs on her,” Bucky says simply. “Her and the other Avengers. I don’t trust them.”   


Steve tips his head to the side. “But you trust me?” he presses.

 

Bucky shrugs. “Hydra’s not likely to try and seduce me with a male Omega,” he says. “They’re Nazis.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says, “back up. What the hell is Hydra and when the hell did I  _ seduce  _ you?” he demands, flustered.

 

Bucky shrugs again. “You commented on my ass?” he says. “I figured that was flirting. Hydra wouldn’t tell you to flirt with me. That was flirting, right?” He looks confused.   


 

Steve considers it. He shrugs, too. “A little bit,” he admits. “But why would that make you trust me?”

 

“I don’t,” Bucky says, “not really. But you’re the only person I trust even a little bit. That’s still alive.”

 

Steve mouths  _ that’s still alive  _ and thinks back to when Peggy first visited him after the invasion. She did say that the Winter Soldier is nearly a hundred years old, after all. 

 

Bucky is clearly in need of some serious help. Steve is wary, but what else can he do when someone who had helped him previously needed the favor returned? His ma would rise from the grave and tan his hide if he turned Bucky down; he can’t justify saying no. 

 

“Why don’t you use my shower?” Steve sighs eventually. “I’ll do my best to wash your – your whatever and you can get some sleep. You look like you haven’t slept more than a few hours once since I saw you last.”

 

“I haven’t,” Bucky admits too easily.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters under his breath. He holds out his hand, as though coaxing a wild animal. “A shower, food, and some sleep,” Steve says. “C’mon.”   


 

Bucky hesitates. He moves forward but he doesn’t take Steve’s hand.

 

“I’ll pay you back for this,” Bucky promises.

 

Steve offers him a smile. “Nah,” he says, “what’re friends for?”

 

This is how Steve finds himself followed up the stairs to his apartment by the Winter Soldier. Bucky looks no less uncomfortable to enter the second floor of the building. He glances several times at the windows and Steve simply crosses to them and pulls the curtains shut. Bucky relaxes some after that.

 

“I’ll show you the bathroom,” Steve tells him, pointing towards the loft. “I’ve got a razor you can use if you want to shave, too.”

 

Bucky touches his jaw as he follows Steve up to the loft. Steve pauses outside the bathroom to get clean towels for Bucky, then heads inside and swaps the hand towel for a fresh one, and sets the bath towel and washcloth on the lid of the toilet. He turns around and Bucky is standing in the doorway, looking nervous still.

 

“You can use my soap and shampoo and shit,” Steve offers. “There are disposable razors and shaving stuff behind the mirror.”

 

Bucky nods and steps out of the way for Steve to exit the bathroom. Steve casts a glance over Bucky’s clothes, then decides he might as well go all the way.

 

“I’ll give you something clean to wear,” he says. “You can wash your clothes here.”

 

Bucky glances down himself, then back up. “Thanks,” he says. “Do you have clothes that’ll fit me?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, “my ex left some stuff here a while ago, he’s about your size.”

 

Bucky startles at the end of Steve’s sentence. “He?” he repeats.

 

“Is that a problem?” Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

 

“No!” Bucky says quickly. His cheeks turn red. “Um. No, ‘course not.”

 

Steve eyes Bucky warily for a minute. “Right,” he says eventually. 

 

He turns away and crosses to the closet, opening a small chest of drawers to dig out some of Sam’s clothes. He shuts the drawer with his foot as he stood up and turns back to hand the clothes to Bucky. Bucky takes them, his gaze on the ground.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbles. “This is a lot more than I deserve.”

 

Steve tips his head to the side, a quizzical frown forming on his face. “Why?” he asks.

 

Bucky looks up. His face is startled again. He looks like he doesn’t understand why Steve would ask something like that.

 

“Why wouldn’t you deserve simple kindness?” Steve presses, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a hero.”

 

“No, ‘m not,” Bucky says simply.

 

Steve takes a step closer to Bucky, his brow furrowed and his lips turned down. Bucky drops his gaze, his metal and flesh hands grip the bundle of clean clothes Steve had given him tightly. 

 

“Why –” Steve starts.

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bucky cuts him off. He takes a step backwards into the bathroom, a hand going to the edge of the door. “Thank you,” he repeats. 

 

He shuts the door.

 

Steve looks away, then sighs and turns to go. Taking the stairs back down, he pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. He opens his text conversation with Peggy, then just stops.

 

He’s not sure why, but… He gets the feeling that he shouldn’t tell Peggy about this. Bucky wouldn’t appreciate it, certainly. Bucky claimed he did not trust SHIELD or the other Avengers, Peggy had to be included. She might even try to interfere. 

 

Steve is not sure, but he doesn’t want to share Bucky all of a sudden. Bucky’s behavior is worrying, even though Steve barely knows him and has only met Bucky once before he broke into Lady Liberty and scared the shit out of Steve. Bucky was a pivotal figure in defending New York against the Chitauri, yet he doesn’t want to be called a hero?

 

When Steve was seven years old, he found a mangey and half-starved cat in the alley behind his and his mother’s apartment building in Navy Hill. Despite being incredibly allergic to the creature, Steve had spent all of his allowance for that month on cat food and he spent the next few weeks nursing the stray back to health. When his mother finally found out, she told Steve that caring for that cat was a very risky thing to do, because he had had no way of knowing that the cat wouldn’t turn hostile on him and it could have been carrying so many diseases, let alone the fact that he was incredibly allergic. 

 

But after Sarah was done lecturing him, she helped Steve catch the cat and take it to the vet to get it groomed and given all its shots and to neuter it. It was there that Steve first discovered that storks did not bring babies and the weird furry balls between his cat’s legs were the real culprit when it came to kittens. The cat promptly moved on after they returned him to the streets, but a few months later, Steve found another one and the whole process started all over again.

 

Bucky is another stray cat. Steve has no way of knowing what demons the Alpha carries in his head and he certainly has no way of knowing that Bucky won’t turn hostile on him, but Steve never learned his lesson to stop feeding strays. He still feeds a few local stray cats in the alley behind Lady Liberty to this day.

 

“This is gonna end badly,” Steve mutters to himself.

 

So, as one does when one makes potentially terrible decisions that could and would backfire spectacularly based on how little self-control one has concerning bedraggled and sad-eyed stray Alphas, Steve makes a cup of tea.

 

Bucky spends about an hour in the shower. Steve checks the clock almost compulsively until he hears the water shut off. At that point, Steve turns to the fridge and starts looking for something to cook. He’s not sure what Bucky might like, so he goes for basics. Spaghetti and meatballs. That’s not hard, and who doesn’t like spaghetti and meatballs?

 

Steve has a big pot of water for the spaghetti on the stove starting to bubble by the time the bathroom door opens upstairs and Bucky’s footsteps can be heard coming down. Steve is kneeling on his counter digging out jars of pasta sauce from the cupboards when Bucky steps off the stairs to the loft.

 

“You okay there, pal?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve glances over his shoulder at Bucky, stepping off the stairs. He looks better now, refreshed and clean. He did take advantage of the razor Steve offered and his jaw is now smooth. Bucky holds his beat-up backpack in one hand, which he sets near the foot of the stairs as he walks up to the breakfast bar. 

 

Steve briefly takes in the way Sam’s t-shirt is too tight over Bucky’s shoulders and chest and the sweats hang low on his hips, as Bucky is slightly taller and significantly broader than Sam is, then he hastily moves on from that train of thought.

 

(Because,  _ dayum, _ Bucky is just the right kind of beefy to make Steve’s mouth water. Bucky was handsome the first time Steve saw him and now clean-shaven with wet hair tied in a low bun at the back of his head, Bucky is certainly gorgeous. His jaw and cheekbones are sharp, his skin just the slightest bit brown, his nose defined and strong, with a cleft in his chin. He looks very Eastern European, and despite his broad stature and thick muscles, his damp hair and cotton clothes give him a very soft look. Like a teddy bear. With a metal arm.) 

 

“Fine,” Steve replies, turning back. “What kinda sauce do you like on your spaghetti?”

 

“What?”

 

Steve looks behind him again. “Spaghetti sauce,” he repeats. “Do you like the classic marinara, tomato and herbs, vodka sauce, what?”

 

Bucky frowns. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “Why?”

 

“So I know which one to cook?” Steve answers, raising an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that obvious?”   


 

Bucky, again, looks startled. He blinks and Steve lets out a sigh.

 

“I’m gonna do tomato and herbs,” he decides, pulling out the jar.

 

Steve sets the jar down on the counter, then shuts the cupboard and shuffles backwards on his knees until he can get his hands on the counter and hop down. Steve takes the jar of sauce, pops the lid, and pours it into a saucepan he has set out on the stove before turning on the heat.

 

“You don’t need to feed me,” Bucky says behind Steve.

 

“Well, I’m feeding myself,” Steve says without turning around. “And if I’m feeding myself, I might as well share.”

 

“It’s fine,” Bucky says.

 

Steve turns around and looks at the Alpha with confusion. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the edge of the stove, tips his head to the side and frowns at Bucky. Bucky looks away, uncomfortable. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his borrowed sweats.

 

“Why don’t you want to eat?” Steve asks. “It’s no trouble for me, I already got the food going.”

 

“You don’t gotta waste food on me,” Bucky mutters.

 

“It’s not a waste,” Steve corrects. “C’mon, you gotta be hungry. Big guy like you, you probably gotta eat your weight in carbs every week.”

 

Bucky’s cheeks flush just a little. He shrugs once.

 

“It ain’t that big of a deal,” he says.

 

“So have some supper,” Steve answers. He turns back then, grabbing a wooden spoon to stir the sauce with. “And whatever it is you need my internet for, it can wait until you’ve had a good night’s rest.”

 

“But –”

 

“Nope,” Steve cuts Bucky off without turning around. “It won’t hurt you to wait a night.”

 

Bucky sighs behind him and Steve takes that as resignation, meaning a victory for him. He grabs the package of pre-made meatballs from the fridge and dumps them into the sauce, stirring it again and turning the heat down a little so it’ll cook slower. By then, the pasta water is properly boiling, so Steve gets a handful of linguine that he estimates should be enough for the two of them and drops it into the water.

 

“The couch unfolds into a bed,” Steve informs Bucky, turning back to the fridge and opening it again. “You want a beer?” he adds, taking one for himself.

 

“Alcohol doesn’t work on me,” Bucky says.

 

Steve turns around, frowning. “It doesn’t?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “My body processes it too quickly,” he answers. “Perks of being a super soldier, I guess.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh,” he says. “Right. Of course.”

 

Bucky drops his gaze to the ground, once again looking uncomfortable. Steve moves back to the stove and adds more pasta to the water.

 

“You probably ought’a be eatin’ your weight in carbs every day,” he remarks. “But if you’d like to have a beer anyway, you can enjoy it just for the taste.”

 

Steve glances back at Bucky. Bucky is frowning.

 

“What?” Steve says.

 

“Can I tell you something?” Bucky asks.

 

“Sure,” Steve says.

 

Bucky bites his lip, clearly thinking. While he’s deliberating, Steve grabs a bottle opener and pops the cap off his beer. He drops the cap into a large mason jar on the counter, labeled  _ Apocalypse Fund, _ and hops up onto the counter by the sink again. He takes a sip of his beer and watches Bucky thinking.

 

“I guess it’s somethin’ big,” Steve remarks.

 

“Kinda,” Bucky mutters. “I, uh, I ain’t one of the good guys, Steve.”

 

Steve tips his head to the side, confused again. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I’ve killed people,” Bucky says. His jaw locks between sentences and his gaze fixes on the wooden countertop between him and Steve. “I’ve killed innocent people,” Bucky continues. “I’ve killed kids, toddlers, babies.”

 

Steve lowers his beer and grips it a little more tightly. He tries to school his heartbeat, to keep the instinctive fear response his body is trying to produce at bay.

 

“Why?” he asks.

 

“Because I was told to,” Bucky answers. “Hydra. They made me into – into a tool. I did their will.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like you wanted to,” Steve says softly.

 

It doesn’t take him long to remember Peggy’s testimony that the Winter Soldier had been a brainwashed prisoner of war. Bucky looks just as stressed and anxious as any other vet. Steve takes another sip of his beer, no longer concerned by Bucky’s past, only by the present.

 

He’s a sucker for a sob story, after all.

 

“I still did it,” Bucky says with finality. “It doesn’t matter if I had a choice. I don’t – I’m not asking to be your friend, Steve. I have suspicions that SHIELD is hiding something and I just need a few hours of Internet access to do some digging into their files.”

 

“Well, I owe you for stopping that kid from getting away with my cash box,” Steve replies. “So, you got yourself a friend, anyway.”

 

“Did you not just hear me?” Bucky asks.

 

“I heard you,” Steve answers. “But I also heard my friend Agent Carter when SHIELD first found you and she said you’d been brainwashed. So, whatever you did –” Steve shrugs. “Wasn’t your fault.”

 

“But I did it,” Bucky tries to insist. “I – I killed pregnant women, Steve. Just because they were witnesses. I burned down an orphanage on Hydra’s orders once. With the kids still inside!”

 

“Hydra made you do it,” Steve replies simply. “Brainwashing is brainwashing, Buck. Jim Jones brainwashed hundreds of people into drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. Humans are surprisingly easy to brainwash,” he concludes.

 

Bucky looks bewildered. “Why are you not afraid of me?” he asks.

 

Steve shrugs again. “Probably because there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he tells Bucky. “Besides,” he adds, throwing Bucky a wink, “I could take you if I had t’a.”   


 

Bucky blinks. His bewildered expression increases.

 

“You could take me?” he questions. He gestures to himself. “I outweigh you by about a hun’erd and fifty pounds, punk. I could pick you up with one hand and hang you on the wall.”

 

“You underestimate my ability to fight dirty,” Steve says primly. “For example,” he continues, hopping down from the counter. “If right this second you decided to throw down –”

 

Bucky interrupts him. “Throw down?”

 

“Shush, I’m giving a presentation,” Steve scolds him. “If this second you decided to throw down, I could grab one’a these big ass knives.” 

 

Steve gestures to the knife block next to him. He has a lot of knives; Peggy bought him a 19 piece set when he first moved into and opened Lady Liberty, real Chef’s knives that for several months, he had no idea what to do with. Then on a whim, he bought a rack of ribs and butchered it himself in his kitchen and suddenly he knew what to do with his Chef’s knives. The knife-block is big and imposing and actually only has 17 knives in it, the 18th and 19th pieces of the set are a pair of scissors and a round thingy for sharpening knives, which Steve still could use to stab someone.

 

Bucky nods, looking impressed.

 

“I would go for the gut,” Steve continues. “I’d be sure to twist the knife to increase the amount of bleeding. I’d then take my knife with me and use the pasta pot to my advantage by throwing the boiling water in your face.”

 

Bucky again nods, again, impressed.

 

“After that,” Steve says, “I’d take the butt of the knife to the top of your head, then kick you into the stove. From there, I’d stab you in the leg so you’d have trouble getting up and walking, and I’d haul ass outta here and go outside without turning off the alarm so the police would show up without me having to call them.”

 

Steve points to Bucky with his beer. “And I’d do it all because you underestimated me due to my size and designation,” he concludes proudly.

 

“I wouldn’t underestimate your designation –” Bucky starts.

 

“Everybody does,” Steve cuts him off.

 

“I trained young Omegas into using their designations as tools in their arsenal,” Bucky says. “Black Widow. She was one of them.”

 

Steve is taken aback. He considers it, then nods, taking a sip of his beer. “I s’pose,” he murmurs.

 

“But, yeah, your size,” Bucky admits. “That’d be sloppy of me.”

 

“You’d be so surprised by me stabbing you you’d fail to fight back,” Steve jokes.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “If I actually wanted to hurt you,” he says, then his face falls into a softer expression. “Well, I’d probably manage it,” he murmurs regretfully.

 

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. He takes another sip of his beer, then puts it down and turns to the fridge. He opens it, takes a second beer out, and crosses to pop the cap. He puts the cap in his Apocalypse Fund jar, then puts the beer down on the breakfast bar and pushes it across to Bucky.

 

Bucky looks at it for a moment. Then his lips almost curl at the corners and he picks it up. Steve lifts his and holds it out and Bucky taps the necks of their bottles together once.

 

“So, friends,” Steve says.

 

Bucky purses his lips. He shrugs.

 

“I guess I ain’t winnin’ this argument,” he answers. “Friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _don't worry, the friends handshake will not turn into 3+ years of denial and "no-strings" fucking like in these days. up next is some more bucky feels. see you next time!_


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _today was a mess! oh my god! who the fuck doesn't know what pickled ginger is! what white bread bullshit is that! please! enjoy softness! bc i had some bullshit and i want to share softness to compensate!_

#  **_SEVEN_ **

 

 

Steve was correct to cook extra pasta; after he encourages Bucky to eat his fill, Bucky eats four times the amount that Steve does. Their bellies full – and Steve the tiniest bit buzzed, he’s no super soldier –, Steve makes more tea and herds Bucky into the living room.

 

“The couch bed isn’t the most comfortable bed in the world,” Steve tells Bucky apologetically. “It’s better than the bed I had every year at NYU, though.”

 

“It’s better than sleeping under bridges,” Bucky says.

 

Steve shoots him a glance. “You’ve been homeless?” he questions.

 

Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t know a way to find someplace to stay without SHIELD knowing,” he explains.

 

“You don’t trust SHIELD that much?” Steve presses.

 

“They haven’t given me any reason to trust them,” Bucky says.

 

Steve glances away. He guesses that means he’s given Bucky a reason to trust him. It makes him smile.

 

“Well, you’ll be safe here,” Steve answers. “There’s no reason SHIELD might think you’re staying with me until you find your own place.”   


 

“I can’t stay more than tonight,” Bucky says.

 

Steve glances up, a frown forming quickly. “Why not?” he asks. “You’re welcome to.”

 

Bucky frowns, too. “Agent Carter,” he says. “What if she visits?”

 

“You can trust Peggy,” Steve tells him.

 

Bucky looks unsure. Steve sighs and continues taking cushions off the sofa. He puts them on the coffee table, shoves the coffee table to one side, then unfolds the couch bed.

 

“Do you have an idea of how to find your own place?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky shakes his head.

 

“I know a guy over at the VA,” Steve adds. “My ex-boyfriend actually; we’re still friends. He could help you.”   


 

“VA?” Bucky questions.

 

“Veterans’ Association,” Steve explains. “Yannow, for ex and retired military.”

 

Bucky shrugs again. “I don’t think I count,” he says. “I’m still active duty.”

 

“Sam’d help you anyway,” Steve tells Bucky. “If not ‘cause you’re probably the longest-serving prisoner of war  _ ever, _ then ‘cause I asked him to.”   


 

“You on good terms with all your exes?” Bucky asks with a light smile.

 

“Only a couple,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Sam and me were friends for a long time before we started dating and we broke up on good terms. He’s still one of my best friends.”

 

Bucky drops his gaze, looking thoughtful. Steve stuffs the couch cushions back into the gap between the sofa frame and the edge of the fold out mattress, then passes Bucky to head up to the loft.

 

“I’ll bring you some pillows and blankets,” Steve says.

 

“Thanks,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve heads up to his linen closet tucked between the bathroom and his actual closet. He digs through the closet for some sheets, a quilt, and a few spare pillows. He tosses them into a laundry basket that had been sitting in a corner of his room to make it all easier to carry. Steve heads back downstairs, finding Bucky still standing by the sofa bed.

 

“Here,” Steve says, setting the basket on the floor and tugging out the sheets. “You wanna help me make the bed?”

 

“I can take care of it,” Bucky says quickly.

 

“Nah, I’ll help,” Steve answers. 

 

He crosses around the bed and tosses a corner of the bottom sheet to Bucky. Bucky, resigned to Steve’s stubbornness, apparently, takes the corner of the sheet nearest to him and pulls it over the thin mattress. Together, they dress the bed and get the quilt spread over it, and after, Steve steps aside and Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed.

 

“I have a spare toothbrush,” Steve offers.

 

Bucky gives a nod and stands up again. Steve turns and leads Bucky back up to the loft. Steve pushes open the bathroom door and Bucky follows him into there as well.

 

Steve ignores how the cramped quarters of the bathroom puts the two of them very close together. He opens drawers in the vanity until he finds an unopened toothbrush, which he hands to Bucky. 

 

“I’ll just –” Steve says, edging past Bucky in the doorway. “You go first.”

 

Bucky nods, moving further into the bathroom. Steve slips past him and pulls the door shut behind him. He takes in a deep inhale and runs both hands through his hair. He needs to dye it again, he remembers vaguely.

 

Steve shakes himself. He wanders over to his dresser and kicks the bottom drawer more securely shut, then moves to the neatly made bed and digs his pajamas out from underneath his pillows. He doesn’t know what to do while Bucky’s using his bathroom, so he just stands there, waiting.

 

Bucky opens the door a minute later and shoots Steve a smile. He starts for the stairs, hand taking the railing.

 

“Goodnight,” Steve says quickly.

 

Bucky pauses and glances back. “Goodnight,” he says softly.

 

Steve crosses the room and pulls the curtains closed as Bucky leaves. After that, Steve goes into the bathroom to wash up himself.

 

It smells heavily of Alpha. It’s been a long time since Steve had the scent of an Alpha that wasn’t Peggy in his space; it surprises Steve how much he actually likes Bucky’s scent. It’s earthy, rich, like woodsmoke.

 

Now Steve is craving barbecue. He’ll have to go out tomorrow and get street meat. Maybe Bucky would want some as well.

 

Steve wants to skip his shower and go straight to bed, but he knows he’ll feel better if he takes one. He brushes his teeth first, then takes out his septum piercing and cleans it before replacing it. He switches on the shower and turns back to pick up his phone and open Spotify. While the shower heats up, Steve starts a new episode of  _ Lore, _ a favorite podcast of his, and puts his phone in a wide teacup on the vanity so the sound will be amplified by natural acoustics. 

 

The shower smells even more heavily of Alpha, however. Very quickly, Steve discovers that he must  _ really _ like Bucky’s scent, because it isn’t long into his shower that he starts feeling the telltale tickle of arousal in his gut.

 

Though his dick doesn’t seem to mind the idea of being incredibly amoral and downright creepy, Steve is not into the idea of getting himself off because of a marginalized and insecure Alpha. He ignores his dick trying to fill up and his hole getting wet, to the point that he grabs a bottle of baby shampoo and takes soap to the slick his body is producing. He spends a few minutes standing under the spray, rinsing, and by the time the podcast ends, Steve is ready to get out.

 

The mirror is fogged up and Steve uses the hand towel to clean a spot off in the lower half of it. Steve brushes his teeth, scowls at the roots of his hair, applies moisturizer to his face and a different moisturizer to a relatively fresh tattoo on the inside of his left elbow. He finishes his bathroom rituals, hangs up his towel, and leaves for his bedroom, already reaching up to take out his hearing aids.

 

The closed curtain reminds him that he’s not alone. Steve drops his hands from his ears, just looking at the curtain.

 

He hasn’t slept with his hearing aids in since college. But Steve doesn’t really want to be at a disadvantage, no matter how much he wants to help Bucky. Steve leaves his hearing aids in and puts on his pajamas.

 

He plugs in his phone and makes sure his alarm is set, despite the fact that he has Mondays off. He shuts off the light, then sits up in bed to decompress for a few minutes.

 

“Tomorrow will be a good day,” Steve murmurs.

 

He spares one last thought for the Alpha in his living room, then lies down and pulls the covers over him.

 

It feels like barely a few minutes before bright flashing lights jerk Steve out of sleep. He sits up, confused. The alarm panel by his bed is flashing a bright, white light. It takes him a second for his sleep-addled brain to realize that the alarm system has been tripped. 

 

Steve jumps out of bed and grabs the baseball bat stashed by his bed and throws aside the curtain blocking the railing to the loft. He runs downstairs, only to be stopped by the sight of the sofa bed.

 

In a few seconds, Steve understands. The sofa bed is neatly made and empty. The alarm panel by the stairs is also flashing; Steve crosses to it and punches in his code to stop the silent alarm. He heads down to the first floor, holding his bat limply at his side.

 

Steve finds the rear door to Lady Liberty unlocked and standing just a little bit ajar, like whoever had shut it had pulled too hard and it had bounced back.

 

Steve is a little disappointed. He pushes the door shut the rest of the way and locks it again. Behind him, the shop phone rings. Steve picks up the handset on his desk and drops into his office chair.

 

“Hello?” he greets, though he knows it’s just the alarm company.

 

_ “Hi, Steve, this is Linda from ADT.” _

 

“Yeah, hi,” Steve says.

 

_ “We’re calling just to check on you, we were notified that your alarm was tripped? Do we need to send law enforcement?” _

 

“No,” Steve says, looking at the back door. “I tripped it on accident,” he tells Linda. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

_ “Alright,” _ Linda says.  _ “Have a good night, Steve.” _

 

“You, too,” Steve mumbles.

 

He hangs up the phone. Steve leans back in his chair, the bat dangling from his numb fingers, and looks at the door with distant hurt creeping up on him.

 

“Why you gotta play me like this, man?” Steve sighs into the empty air.

 

He gets up. He resets the alarm and goes upstairs. He leaves the empty sofa bed the way it is and heads back up to the loft with tired, heavy feet. He puts the bat back in its nook by his bed and collapses back into his bed. Lastly, he switches off the alarm. It’s a little after three in the morning.

 

Steve lies down and tries to get comfortable. After a minute, he sits back up and unhooks his hearing aids and drops them onto his nightstand. He lies back down again.

 

“I didn’t like you anyway,” Steve grumbles into his pillow.

 

He sleeps fitfully. In the morning, he goes down to the kitchen to make himself breakfast and coffee with tired, heavy feet. 

 

It takes him a while to notice that the dry-erase board stuck to the front of his fridge has more than just his grocery list on it. Steve shuts the fridge door again, a frown creasing his forehead.

 

There’s a note in handwriting that isn’t his. It’s in cursive, for one thing. 

 

“Damn,” Steve grumbles, shoving his glasses up his nose to squint better.

 

He’s dyslexic. It takes him forever to figure out what the fucking loops mean.

 

The first word is Steve, he guesses that much. There’s a phone number at the end. Steve scratches his head, trying to figure out what the middle part says.

 

Downstairs, the front doorbell rings once and then the alarm starts flashing before being cut off. And then Darcy yells: “STEVE?”

 

“Upstairs!” Steve shouts.

 

Darcy’s boots clomp up the stairs while Steve stands in front of the fridge, still trying to figure out what the note says.

 

“Hi,” Darcy says, walking in. “I got up this morning and, like, my mom was going to force me to go with her to her knitting club, so I told her you needed me in the shop today and she bought it. What’s up?”

 

“Can you read cursive?” Steve says.

 

“Uh,” Darcy says, then steps in beside him. “Kinda?”

 

“What does that say?” Steve asks.

 

Darcy pushes her glasses up her nose and squints, much like Steve. They stare together for a moment.

 

“Steve,” Darcy starts.

 

“Yeah?” Steve answers.

 

“No, that’s the first word,” Darcy says quickly.

 

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling dumb. “Yeah, I figured.”

 

Darcy squints more. “Steve,” she repeats, “I’m sorry I left so quick. I had to take care of something. Call me if you need me.”

 

Darcy gasps and grabs Steve’s arm. “Did you have a one-night stand!” she asks in a shrill voice.

 

“No!” Steve insists, shoving her off a step. “I let a friend crash on the sofa and he ran out in the middle of the night.”

 

Darcy shrugs. “He left you his number,” she says, looking at him. “So, was he, like, a friend friend or a –” She breaks off and wiggles her eyebrows.

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t have any work for you to do,” he says, opening the fridge. “I was planning on vegging out all day. You wanna join?”

 

“Hell yeah,” Darcy says happily.

 

*

 

James watches Steve pull the curtain over the loft shut. For a moment, he just sits there. Looking at the curtain. Trying to figure out what his priorities are.

 

He doesn’t have a lot to do. He needs Steve’s secured Internet network just to install some black hat hacker recommended programs, it should only take him a few hours. James stares at the curtain covering the loft. He feels conflicted.

 

After the Chitauri, James stuck around with SHIELD long enough to cash out whatever was in his bank account; then he’d split.

 

It had actually been a lot of money. James had most of it hidden in the bottom of his go-bag, still. He’d bought a laptop and burner cell only begrudgingly. He needed the computer in order to snoop around in SHIELD’s files; something he hadn’t been aware he was capable of until he successfully broke into one of SHIELD’s servers at their headquarters in New York and got away with it. The cell phone he bought knowing he’d eventually need to establish a network of trusted contacts.

 

He might have bought it on his way to Steve’s place.

 

James forces himself to focus. He tugs his go-bag closer to him and takes out his laptop, booting it up. It takes him longer than it should to get everything he needs from the deep web, because James keeps looking up, at the curtain covering the loft. He feels conflicted.

 

When he’s finished, James packs up and changes back into his gear. At the top of the stairs, he stops, looking back over his shoulder.

 

He has the burner cell. He can trust Steve. Steve had proven that much. James bought the phone for this reason. 

 

He leaves a note with his number, telling Steve to call if he needed help with anything. Fuck Hydra, James decides. Something tells him that Steve’s worth the distraction.

 

With that, James sneaks out.

 

It starts to rain not long after James leaves Steve’s place in Flatbush. James ducks under the awning of a restaurant and tugs a cheap poncho he’d bought from a bodega out of his backpack; he pulls the poncho on over the bag and lifts the hood above his head. Then he keeps going.

 

He doesn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary, but at the same time, he gets the feeling that he shouldn’t stray far. SHIELD will be looking for him, had started looking for him the second James dropped off their radar, James can only guess, but…

 

James doesn’t want to leave Steve behind. If he leaves New York, and then Steve calls, if Steve needs his help, who knows how long it might take James to get back to Brooklyn? 

 

He walks through the rain until he hits the waterfront. James stands on the edge of the highway ringing Brooklyn and stares across Gravesend Bay. It occurs to him…

 

He shouldn’t know what this body of water is called.

 

James turns back. He had considered crossing the bridge to Staten Island, until he’d started to think about how easy it had been for him to navigate New York in the past month living on the streets. He gives in to the instinct that he should stay in Brooklyn, because surely it isn’t just his inconvenient attachment to Steve? It can’t just be that. 

 

James picks a road and lets his feet carry him. He doesn’t know why, but he knows these streets. He doesn’t know the buildings, the shops, the signs, but the streets… They’re familiar. He follows his gut until it takes him through Prospect Park and into Park Slope.

 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. In Park Slope, his feet stop outside the doors of a cathedral. James looks up at it, at the bell-tower and the parapets.

 

What is he doing?

 

The rain pours on. Drops of it get into James’s hood and run down his face. He stands there, letting the rain go down his face like tears. He doesn’t know why, but this place, this church –

 

James climbs the steps. His hand reaches out to the heavy ring making the handle of the large oak doors and he pulls. The door opens. James steps inside, out of the rain, and the door swings shut behind him with a heavy clang.

 

Inside the church is silent. Water drips off his poncho and hits the floor with a soft patter that echoes. With a sudden feeling that even the sound might disturb the atmosphere inside the church, James holds his breath. 

 

He stares up at the massive stained glass windows directly opposite him. The iconography is familiar to him. By instinct, he knows that in the center window, the man hanging on a cross is Jesus Christ. The left panel is the Virgin Mother Mary, and the right panel is John the Baptist. Above and below and around them, the smaller windows that frame the three panels, are the Twelve Disciples, but Judas isn’t there; instead, the Apostle Paul stands blinded on the road to Damascus.

 

He knows the names of all these people. Their stories, their legends. How does he know this?

 

James takes a single step forward. His footstep echoes. He is no longer fixated on the windows, but on something else, behind the rows of pews. There is an altar covered in candles, a handful of which are lit, and above it is another icon of the Virgin Mary; not a window this time, but a painting. James steps up to it, confused. 

 

A second set of footsteps in the cathedral startles him. James grabs for a gun on his belt, but stops at the sight of an old man appearing from a side door in the hall. He walks with a cane and despite the deep brown color of his skin, his hair is shockingly white.

 

“The doors were unlocked,” James says, feeling suddenly guilty.

 

“As they should be,” the old man answers. “God’s house is open to all at all hours.”

 

James doesn’t know what to say to that. His hand remains at his belt.

 

The old man approaches. He wears a bathrobe and slippers, looking entirely as if he should be wearing a nightcap and holding a lantern instead of a flashlight. He walks right up to James and James is still trying to figure out if this man is a threat or not.

 

“You are not the first to stumble in from the cold,” the old man tells James. “You shall not be the first to be turned out, young man.”

 

It feels strange to be called young. James is all too sure that he is anything but young. He might be older than this church warden.

 

“But I shall say,” the old man says, hobbling a step nearer, “you look very familiar.”

 

James glances back at the candles. “What is this?” he asks, pointing.

 

“It is for prayers,” the old man says. “You say a prayer and light a candle for it. Or you light a candle in memory of a loved one lost.”

 

The old man tips his head to the side. “Have you lost someone, young man?”

 

James frowns. “Probably,” he says, looking back to the altar. “I don’t remember,” he adds after a long moment of quiet.

 

“What is your name?” 

 

James’s frown increases and he shrugs, looking down at his feet. “James,” he says. “Or Bucky.”

 

James told Steve that his name was Bucky. He doesn’t know why he did that. He doesn’t deserve to be Bucky, not anymore. Bucky was an innocent, but James… SHIELD said they never were able to discover who he was before Hydra. James doesn’t remember.

 

“That’s all I know,” James tells the old man, his gaze still on the ground. He’s tracked mud into the church.

 

“Bucky,” the old man repeats, however, his tone brightening. “Bucky, you say? Not short for Buchanan, is it?”

 

James turns his frown on the old man. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I – I don’t know why I came here, I just – It seemed familiar?”

 

The old man’s thick, white eyebrows lift high on his forehead. He shuts his mouth and lets out a considering hum, nodding slowly. James is only more confused.

 

“You have the Barnes chin,” the old man tells James. “And I know all the Barneses, my boy.”   


 

“I’m sorry?” James says.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the old man declares. “The last Barnes to have that name. Of course, James’s sister Rebecca named her first child James Buchanan, but the child naturally had her husband’s name. Were you perhaps given up for adoption at birth?”

 

“I don’t know,” James repeats numbly.

 

Barnes. Barnes?  _ Barnes… _

 

“You do not know?” the old man questions. “Do you not know yourself?”

 

James shakes his head. The old man frowns heavily.

 

“That must be quite frustrating,” he says.

 

James laughs. “You got no idea, pal,” he answers.

 

The old man considers James. Then he taps his cane against the ground.

 

“Light your candle,” he says, “and I shall show you to your room.”

 

James starts. “My – my room?”

 

“You need one, do you not?” the old man returns. “This church has offered asylum to those in need for over a hundred years.” 

 

The old man leans forward and taps his cane again. “You shall be no exception,” he says.

 

James doesn’t know what to say. He looks at the candles, at the old man, then picks up a match and holds it into the flame of a nearby candle. The match lights and James pulls it back. 

 

He doesn’t know who or what to pray for, considering he doesn’t believe in a god. James just picks a candle, lights it, and hopes that whatever the hell is going on will give him some answers.

 

He can dig back into SHIELD’s files later. For now, James just wants to know what his name is.

 

“Follow me,” the old man says, turning.

 

James puts back the hood of his poncho. He follows the old man through the side door into a different hall. Looking around, James sees doors going down the hall, but the old man heads for a set of stairs leading up. James simply follows.

 

The old man takes James to a second story, carpeted in deep red. James immediately feels guilty that his boots are muddy and he’s tracking water everywhere, but the old man doesn’t seem to care. They travel the carpeted hallway and the old man stops at an iron-clad oak door near the end. The old man takes a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, then pushes it open.

 

James peeks inside; it’s a simple bedroom, plain and tidy. Just a bed, a bedside table, and a small chest of drawers.

 

“It is yours for the night,” the old man tells James. “And any other night you might need it, young man.”

 

James steps inside, then hesitates. He turns back and looks quizzically at the old man.

 

“Who are you?” he finally asks.

 

“My name is Franklin Elliot,” the old man answers. “I am the parish priest for Saint Michael’s.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” James asks next. “A random fella turns up outta the blue and you just let him in?”

 

“This is God’s house,” Father Elliot replies. “It is God’s business who he guides to these doors and from there, it is only my duty to show them the way.”   


 

James isn’t sure what Elliot just said. It sounded like a fat crock of bullshit, if he were honest.

 

“Right,” James muttered. “Thank you, I guess. Or, thank God for me.”

 

Elliot nods his head. “I shall,” he replies. “Sleep well, Bucky.”

 

Father Elliot turns and heads back down the hallway. James glances over his shoulder at the room, then turns back and shuts the door slowly. He stands there for a second, holding the door shut, then he flips the lock and turns around.

 

James sheds his poncho and backpack. He sets about searching the room for surveillance equipment.

 

In the end, James finds nothing. He sits down on the bed and stares at the wall. As he sits there, it feels like the church is holding its breath. Nothing moves, nothing breathes. Not even him.

 

James doesn’t understand why Brooklyn is familiar. This church, the streets, the icons and Christ on the cross. He doesn’t want to leave Brooklyn. He knows that the reason is twofold, equally so.

 

Brooklyn is familiar. And Steve has been kind to him.

 

“Barnes,” James repeats softly aloud.

 

The Soldier’s reason for living was the extermination of Hydra. When he’d thought it was done, James had been prepared to take his own life. He still has that last bullet intended for himself in his breast pocket. That was the Soldier’s reason for living.

 

Perhaps SHIELD harbors a head of Hydra. Perhaps James just doesn’t trust enough. Sitting there, James decides that he wants to be Bucky. The man he’d told Steve he was. The boy that those little girls had played hopscotch and marbles with. James wants to be that person, for real.

 

Bucky had taught his little sisters to play marbles. He’d taught them how to throw a punch. James remembers, very suddenly, that he dropped out of high school at sixteen years old, but he’d still taught his baby sister Bennett about fractions.

 

“Bennett,” James says aloud.

 

Suddenly frenzied, James grabs his backpack and yanks out his laptop. He opens it and starts, not his Tor browser, but Notepad.

 

James types out:

 

> _ My youngest sister’s name was Bennett. We called her Benny. _

 

It spirals from there. When dawn comes, James is still sitting up. His right wrist and fingers ache from typing so long. His spine hurts because he’s been hunched over all night. His eyes itch with tiredness, but James isn’t done.

 

> _ My youngest sister’s name was Bennett. We called her Benny. It was Becca that first found nicknames that started with a B for all of us; she and the girls was easy. Elizabeth was Betty. Rebecca named herself Becky (she decided she liked Becca better when she was twelve). Bennett was the easiest, Benny was obvious. Me? There wasn’t any nickname of James that started with B, so Becca decided that we’d have to go with my middle name. She was four, I was nine. She told me “Your name is Bucky now” and I said, “Okay.” _
> 
> _ Benny was born last. I was the oldest. Becca was five years younger than I was, Betty was a year younger than Becca, and Benny was three years younger than Betty. My mother was Jewish. My mother was Jewish, but there weren’t a Temple close enough to us or enough Jews near us because we lived in the Irish part of Brooklyn. Ma took us all to a big Catholic church and we pretended that we were as Irish as the rest of them. If any knothead said Bucky wasn’t an Irish name, I punched him and told him to keep his trap shut about my nickname, cause I had a good Irish Christian name like the rest of them. And if any knothead asked where my pa was, I punched him too and told him not to sully my pa’s good name cause my pa was killed fighting Krauts during the war. _
> 
> _ Aint no such truth. My pa coulda been alive, coulda been dead for all we cared. He ran out on my ma before Benny was born. I was up late the night he left and I heard him tell my ma that he’d gotten a job out west laying train tracks. My ma slapped him and told him she weren’t no moo flop and he couldn’t lie to save his life. That was the last any of us saw of him and we was happy that way. _
> 
> _ People talked about my ma. I kept gettin in fights cause of it. Ma told me to cut it out, that people would talk no matter what, and it weren’t our problem if they didn’t like us. I didn’t listen. _
> 
> _ I didn’t just drop outta high school I got expelled. My ma whipped my ass so bad I winced sittin down for a month. But I didn’t care. I started working full time after that and that was better than going to school every day earning nothing. The only thing that was shit about it was Baby Benny. She wanted to know why I quit school and if she was gonna hafta when she grew up. Benny was good with letters, she could spell like a champ and I swear there were days I caught her reading the dictionary for fun. I told her that all Alphas quit school after a while cause they didnt need it to hold down a decent job or start a family, but little Omegas always stayed in school cause theyd need to know how to teach their babies how to read and all when they grew up. Benny believed me…  _
> 
>  

James went on for pages and pages. He didn’t know how many, really, only that by the time he ran out of thoughts, he had a better picture of what was so familiar about St. Michael’s.

 

He still doesn’t know what his name is. But he knows one thing.

 

He wants to be worthy of Bucky again. And, dammit, he wants to be worthy of Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _oh that wasn't as soft. damn. welp. there's softness in tomorrow's update to into the dark, dammit! there was softness in the old priest immediately recognizing bucky's chin lol. love you all and see you next time!_


	8. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i meant to post this yesterday. oops. i was at an open house at college and fighting between OHMYGOD I'M GOIN GTO COLLEGE and OHMYGOD I'M GOING TO COLLEGE. you know the feeling. so here it is late!_

#  **_EIGHT_ **

  
  


Excepting Friday and Saturdays, Lady Liberty closes at 9 PM. Steve sends Vanessa and Wade home around 8 and shoos Darcy out the door around 9:15 or 9:20, and he cleans up what’s left of the day’s work by himself. That means he heads up for supper around 10 every night, and this Sunday is no exception.

 

This Sunday, though, as Steve is setting the alarm, someone knocks on the alley door.

 

It startles Steve into punching the wrong button on the alarm panel and it beeps angrily at him before resetting. Steve looks at the back door, confused and a little apprehensive, but all he can see through the dark window at the top of the door is a tall shape. 

 

Steve approaches and flips the deadbolts, but leaves the chains on, and he opens the door.

 

“Bucky?” he says, even more startled.

 

Bucky smiles a little apologetically at Steve. “Hi,” he says. “Could I come in?”

 

Steve blinks. He nods briefly, then shuts the door and takes the chains off so he can open it fully. Bucky steps inside, again dressed in his Winter Soldier gear and carrying the beat-up backpack. He pauses to wipe his shoes on the mat and Steve shuts the door behind him, again putting the chains and deadbolts on. Then he turns back and faces Bucky.

 

Steve hasn’t seen Bucky in a week, not since he left in the middle of the night and set off the alarm. Bucky looks unkempt again, but not nearly as bad as he’d been a week ago; perhaps he could use a shower and a shave, but his clothes and face are cleaner. Steve has to admit, he hadn’t thought he would see Bucky ever again unless aliens re-invaded New York.

 

“I knocked this time,” Bucky offers.

 

“Yeah, you did,” Steve muses. “Uh, what did you need this time?”

 

Bucky pulls something out of his pocket, looks at it briefly, then thrusts it towards Steve. Steve, though wary, takes the small box and opens it. He looks inside and finds a small, polished chunk of yellow quartz.

 

Steve plucks it out of the box and raises an eyebrow at it, now incredibly confused.

 

“The shop said it was good for creativity,” Bucky speaks up. “It’s citrine.”

 

“Cool,” Steve says numbly. “Um. Why are you giving it to me?”

 

He looks up. Is he seeing things, or is Bucky blushing a little?

 

“It’s kinda an apology,” Bucky says to his feet. “For leaving like I did last week.” 

 

“You set off the alarm,” Steve tells Bucky. “Scared the shit outta me ‘til I realized it was just you leaving,” he adds, a little bit blunt and smug for it.

 

Bucky winces. “I didn’t hear an alarm go off,” he says.

 

“You wouldn’t’ve,” Steve answers. “The alarm’s silent, it uses flashing lights instead ‘cause I don’t typically sleep with my hearing aids in.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, then makes a soft noise of realization and nods quickly. “Yeah,” he mutters, “guess so.”

 

Steve fists the citrine quartz in his palm. “So,” he says.

 

Bucky looks back at his feet. He shrugs once. Steve considers him for a while, then pulls the quartz closer to his chest and cracks a soft smile. He pockets the piece of quartz.

 

“Come on,” Steve says, tossing the now empty box onto his desk. “I’ll feed you.”

 

“I didn’t just come for food,” Bucky says quickly as he follows Steve up the stairs. “I wanted to – Uh, it’s kinda –”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, pausing by the top of the stairs to properly punch in his alarm code and set the alarm. “Do you wanna crash on my couch again? In which case, if you need to leave suddenly again, wake me up first so I can turn the alarm off for you.”

 

“Um,” Bucky says.

 

“Make up your mind later,” Steve tells him, heading into the kitchen. “Are ya hungry? I’m starving.”

 

“I wanted to ask you something,” Bucky says.

 

Steve opens the fridge. “What?” he answers, digging around to see if he has leftovers fit to eat as he says it. “Do you want me to put you in touch with Sam? He’ll help you out –”   
  


“Are you seeing anyone?” Bucky interrupts.

 

Steve stops digging. With the fridge door opened, he can’t see Bucky. Bucky can’t see him. Steve blinks.

 

“If you’re not,” Bucky adds, trailing off into a mumble. “I – I was hoping…”

 

Steve usually can tell when guys are about to make a move on him. Right now, he’s been totally blindsided.

 

“You are, aren’t you?” Bucky says then. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll just go –”   


 

“Hold on!” Steve says hastily, slamming the fridge shut.

 

Bucky stops at the head of the stairs and takes a quick step back. “Yes?” he says.

 

“I happen to be single right now,” Steve finally answers.

 

Bucky grins a little. He bites his lip and stands a little taller. “So…” he says slowly.

 

“But –” Steve adds and Bucky’s face immediately falls. Steve deflates and sighs, looking away. “Look, it’s complicated,” he says. “I’m complicated, I mean. I’d love to say yes, it’s just –” He sighs again. “Complicated.”

 

“What kinda complicated?” Bucky asks. “Can’t be more complicated than a bad case’a amnesia and paranoia.”

 

Steve grimaces. “Probably not,” he admits. “Look,” he adds, “I really am starving, so – So let’s just eat and –”

 

“Steve,” Bucky says softly. “C’mon. Try me.”

 

Steve sighs and looks away, running his hands through his hair. “I,” he starts, “have certain… needs.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky responds.

 

“It’s a stress thing,” Steve says, trying to explain it without explaining because there’s no way that a World War 2 vet would be okay with an adult wanting to be treated like a child, for any reason at all. “I need things from my partner that most people aren't willing to provide,” he offers carefully.

 

“Like what?” Bucky asks. 

 

Steve exhales again sharply. Steve hears Bucky step closer, but doesn’t expect the hand picking up his. He starts, but Bucky raises Steve’s hand and cups it in both of his. Bucky then bends and kisses Steve’s knuckles. Steve feels his cheeks going warm.

 

“You made me feel human again, Steve,” Bucky says quietly. “There really ain’t nothin’ you could say that’d make me think less of you."   


 

Steve grimaces. “You’d be surprised,” he says.

 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand. “Try me,” he repeats.

 

Steve hesitates.

 

“If it’s what I think it is,” Bucky adds, “you ain’t gotta be so worried, doll. I know things were – were pretty Puritan when I was a kid, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t.”

 

“What do you think it is?” Steve counters warily.

 

“Like, a sex thing?” Bucky suggests.

 

Steve tips his head to the side, again, grimacing. “Sorta?” he says. “Not always. At least, not that I’ve had a lotta experience with…”   


 

“So, what is it?” Bucky prompts.

 

“Look, promise you won’t laugh,” Steve says quickly.

 

“I promise,” Bucky answers, a smile growing on his face. “C’mon, I bet it ain’t that big’a deal, sweetheart.”

 

“I’m an age regressor,” Steve blurts. “Like, I regress to a kid, in my head. Like, some people cook or play video games to – to unwind. I become a kid.”

 

Steve is tense all over, waiting for Bucky to react. Then Bucky smiles.

 

“So, you’re a little boy, then?” Bucky asks.

 

“Not always a boy,” Steve says quickly, “I’m genderfluid.”   


 

“A little boy or girl,” Bucky adds.

 

“Just – little works. Just a little,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand with his right hand and instead touches Steve’s cheek. Steve blinks, but doesn’t resist.

 

“That’s not so weird,” Bucky tells him. “So, what, you need a daddy?”

 

Steve flushes. He swallows, but nods. Bucky continues to smile.

 

“Why are you not freaked out?” Steve asks sharply.

 

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Bucky answers happily. “But I ain’t. And I ain’t mad about hearin’ this, neither. I could be that for you, Steve.”   
  


“What,” Steve says flatly.

 

“I’ll ask again,” Bucky replies in a soft tone. “You ‘n’ me. Wanna give it a try?”   


 

Steve, for a moment, just blinks up at Bucky. Then he laughs and ducks his head, shaking it, before he smacks Bucky’s hand off his cheek and instead loops his arm around Bucky’s neck. Steve hugs Bucky loosely, and Bucky returns it eagerly.

 

“Why not?” Steve says. “Why the hell not.”

 

Bucky hugs Steve tightly abruptly and lifts him off his feet. Steve lets out a sharp noise, then laughs; he dangles from Bucky’s neck, filled with delight. After a second, Bucky sets him down again and Steve takes a step back, tugging his shirt down over his hips. He just smiles and Bucky smiles back.

 

“So –” Bucky starts. “Are you – Are you a boy or a girl today, or what?”

 

“Boyish,” Steve answers, smiling wider. “My pronouns are he/him today, at least.”

 

“How does that work?” Bucky asks, sounding eager to actually know. “Does it change every day? How do you decide what your pronouns are?”   


 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Steve suggests, his hand going to the fridge door. “We can talk while I cook, ‘cause I really am fucking hungry.”

 

“Right,” Bucky says, moving to the breakfast bar. “Uh, I’ll eat whatever. I don’t remember if I don’t like anything.”

 

“We’ll find out?” Steve says, shrugging.

 

Bucky shrugs back, sitting down on a stool. Steve opens his fridge and resumes digging through it for something to cook.

 

“So, how does being genderfluid work?” Bucky asks. “Also, what is gender?”

 

Steve lets out a laugh. He slumps against the fridge, wheezing a little, at the pure absurdity.

 

“What?” Bucky says. “I really don’t remember! My memory has more holes than Swiss cheese! What’s Swiss cheese?”

 

“Ohmygod,” Steve mutters. “Okay,” he says, straightening. He bursts into laughter again and Bucky rolls his eyes heavily. “Okay,” Steve repeats, giggling still. He grabs a package of sliced cheese. “This is Swiss cheese,” he says first.

 

“Oh,” Bucky says.

 

Steve tosses the package at him and Bucky opens it, extracting a slice of cheese. He bites into it, then makes a horrified noise and spits it out into his palm.

 

“This is disgusting!” Bucky claims. “What the hell, why do you want to eat this?”

 

“I like it!” Steve insists, grabbing the package of cheese back from the counter. “And now we know you don’t like Swiss cheese.”

 

Bucky throws the half-eaten slice and the mangled bite into the trash can at the end of the bar, looking personally affronted. Steve rolls his eyes and takes a beer out of the fridge, pops the cap, then hands it to Bucky.

 

“Here,” he says. “You’ll need it to learn the ins and outs of gender.”

 

“I need it to wash out that awful taste,” Bucky grumbles before taking a long swig.

 

Steve sniggers a bit more and returns to his fridge. Eventually, he switches to the freezer and finds a package of shredded vegetables and some frozen beef tips.

 

“How’s stir-fried rice and steak sound?” Steve asks, shutting the fridge again.

 

“No idea what it is,” Bucky says.

 

“Cool,” Steve answers.

 

Steve starts gathering what he needs for stir-fry and as he does, he explains what the hell gender is to Bucky.

 

“Obviously, there’s biological sex,” Steve says. “That starts at the base sex chromosomes, XX or XY.”

 

“Huh?” Bucky says.

 

“DNA?” Steve offers.

 

Bucky shrugs.

 

“Okay, I don’t know enough about biology to explain all that,” Steve decides. “That’s another lesson. Biologically, there’s two basic sexes, male or female, but there’s gene mutations that can create intersex humans, too.”

 

“Like, hermaphrodites?” Bucky asks.

 

“Uh, no,” Steve says. “Intersex. It’s complicated. There’s also designation and that’s even more complicated.”

 

“I know about designations,” Bucky answers.

 

“Fun fact,” Steve adds, “male Omegas and female Alphas are more common in Celtic bloodlines because Beta genes were stronger in Britain and Ireland.”   


 

“Okay,” Bucky says, though he sounds confused.

 

“That’s another lesson,” Steve decides. “Um. Sex is the biological, physical thing. Gender is mental.”

 

“Right,” Bucky says.

 

“So, gender can go a handful of ways,” Steve continues; he hops up onto the counter by the sink as he does and twists around on his knees to grab a wok from on top of the cupboards. 

 

“You good?” Bucky asks.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve says. “I just gotta grab –”

 

Steve leans to the side and wobbles on a knee as he scrabbles to grab the handle of the wok. He hears a stool scrap behind him and footsteps, then a hand touches his back and Steve glances down. Bucky flicks his eyebrows up, then lifts onto his toes and grabs the wok for Steve. He tugs it down easily. Steve drops his jaw.

 

“Here,” Bucky says.

 

“You jerk,” Steve accuses. He twists around and hops down from the counter, glaring at Bucky. “How dare you use your height to such an advantage.”   


 

“I was helping you, punk,” Bucky counters. “I can put it back up there if you want.”

 

“Shuddup,” Steve retorts, grabbing the wok. “Get outta my kitchen, you’re in the way!”

 

Bucky laughs and Steve shoves past him to the get to the stove, putting the wok down on the front burner. Bucky steps out of the kitchen area and back behind the breakfast bar.

 

“Anyway!” Steve says loudly as he switches on the gas burner. “Gender is weird. It’s a spectrum, but it’s not linear –”

 

He abruptly grins. “It’s a big ball of timey-wimey stuff.”   


 

Steve chuckles to himself and glances over his shoulder at Bucky. “You wanna watch Doctor Who tomorrow? It’s a show. We can binge it all day, the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

 

“I know,” Bucky says. “I staked out the place for a while before I came to you.”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “That’s either super creepy or super cute,” he says. “But I’m picking cute because I like you.”

 

Bucky grins. Steve rolls his eyes and looks back at what he’s doing. He grabs a pot down from the rack hanging over the breakfast bar and fills it up with water at the sink to make rice in. He puts it on the stove, as well, and lights the fire under it.

 

“Gender can be different from biological sex or designation,” Steve resumes. “When it matches, you’re lucky and you’re cisgender.”

 

“Why’s it lucky?” Bucky asks.

 

“‘Cause you don’t have to deal with transphobic assholes trying to invalidate you on the regular,” Steve explains. “Transphobia is the hatred of transgender or gender non-conforming people,” he adds.

 

“Right,” Bucky says. “So, like…”

 

Steve pauses in his dumping of the vegetables and beef tips into the wok to glance over his shoulder at Bucky. Bucky is frowning heavily.

 

“Why would people be mad about it?” Bucky asks, sounding genuinely confused. “Why would anyone care?”

 

“Oh, honey,” Steve laughs. “So many people care.”

 

“Another lesson?” Bucky suggests.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, half-grimacing and half-laughing. “Probably.”

 

The pile of veggies and beef tips in the wok begins to steam and Steve grabs olive oil from the cupboard next to the stove to pour over the wok. He grabs a long, wooden spoon and gives it a stir, then gets soy sauce out of the fridge to add.

 

“Anyway,” Steve continues again. “Gender can go all over the place on the spectrum. A lot of the time, you’ll see either comfortably biologically male or female, or uncomfortably biologically male or female. Transgender means that your biological sex doesn’t match your gender and it’s not fun. A lot. It’s pretty shitty.”

 

“Because people are assholes?” Bucky questions.

 

“Partly because people are assholes,” Steve answers, glancing over his shoulder again. “But a lot of it is because your body doesn’t match what your brain thinks it should be; it causes dysphoria, it’s a kind of depression. Specifically gender dysphoria. It’s supremely shitty.”

 

“What’s depression?” Bucky asks.

 

“It’s a mental disorder,” Steve replies, no longer phased by Bucky’s incredible amnesia. “It causes a lack of – uh, serotonin, I think?”

 

Steve glances back at Bucky. Bucky looks clueless.

 

“It causes a lot of negative emotions,” Steve tries again. “Or just… crushing numbness and hopelessness.”

 

Bucky nods a little. Steve clears his throat and looks back into the wok.

 

“Anyway, gender for me flips around every so often,” Steve continues again. “I bounce back and forth between masculine and non-binary, but generally I’m kinda in the middle with demiboy. Like, I’m cool with being masc but I don’t really care? I could be whatever and I’d be okay with it.”

 

“You’re kinda apathetic about your gender?” Bucky suggests.

 

“More like I’m chill about it,” Steve answers. He gives the stir-fry another turn, then rotates and puts his back to the corner of the counters and looks at Bucky. “It wasn’t always like that. Back in high school, I hit a period where I was on the other end of the spectrum for a long time; pretty feminine. It sucked because I got incredibly dysphoric and being genderqueer back then wasn’t very acceptable.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows drop in the centers. Steve, internally, thinks it’s really strange to be talking so calmly about one of the worst periods in his life.

 

“People are assholes?” Bucky says.

 

“Yeah, that was part of it,” Steve answers. “And at that point, my mom had cancer. So I didn’t want to make a big deal about me and I tried to just ignore it, but dysphoria’s a pretty hard thing to ignore.”

 

“Cancer?” Bucky repeats.

 

“Nasty illness,” Steve explains. “It killed her when I was nineteen.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky replies predictably.

 

Steve shrugs, looking down into the wok and stirring the vegetables and steak. “It’s okay,” he says. “She had a good run. I had time to figure my shit out and come out to her before she died. A lot of people don’t get that.”

 

A beat passes. Steve turns over the vegetables and steak almost absently. He feels Bucky’s eyes on him but doesn’t turn to look.

 

“Do you still get dysphoria?” Bucky asks.

 

“Sometimes,” Steve says. “I get days where I feel, like, really feminine and it just reminds me of how much it sucked while I was in high school. But I try to put it past me most of the time. Like I said, I’m usually on the masculine part of the spectrum gender-wise. I mean –” he pauses, shrugging. “I’m an effeminate person all the time. But that’s less gender than it is personality.”

 

Bucky frowns in the corner of Steve’s eye. Steve glances over. In the silence between them, the stir-fry hisses and pops. Bucky taps his metal finger against his beer and the glass sings. Steve shrugs again.

 

“I think I remember something about that,” Bucky says softly.

 

“Being effeminate?” Steve repeats.

 

Bucky nods. “Like – like fairies.”

 

Steve tips his head to the side, looking at Bucky and waiting for him to keep speaking. Bucky looks down into the neck of his beer, continuing to tap his metal finger.  _ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

 

“People are assholes,” Bucky says yet again. “I – My memory, it comes back at random times,” he says, laughing lightly. A little weakly. “This stuff was illegal when I was a kid.”

 

“It’s still illegal in a lot of places,” Steve replies. “New York’s a progressive state. It’s illegal in a lot of the US.”

 

“You could’a gotten killed for bein’ a fairy in the wrong place,” Bucky says.

 

“You could get killed for it today,” Steve answers.

 

Bucky nods. He laughs again and shoots Steve a smile. “Cheery topic, huh?” he says.

 

Steve smiles back. “We can get into LGBTQ history another time,” he tells Bucky. “There’s a lot that’s happened since you were a kid.”

 

“Does it bother you?” Bucky asks abruptly. “That I’m – A man out of time?”

 

“Nah,” Steve says simply. “There are weirder things. Like being a little,” he adds with a sardonic twist to his lips.

 

“I think…” Bucky starts, frowning. “I think maybe that wasn’t so weird when I was a kid?”

 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. He glances down at the stove to stir the wok briefly as he takes that in. 

 

“Yeah, I guess not,” he says. “Did you… know someone who was?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t remember,” he says. “I might’ve.”

 

Steve nods slowly. “Well,” he adds. “We’ll figure things out as we go, I guess.”   


 

Bucky offers Steve another smile, this one more genuine. Steve smiles back and glances away.

 

“Water’s boiling,” Steve announces for no reason.

 

He adds minute rice, enough for three people since Bucky will probably need a lot, and turns down the heat on the wok while he waits on the rice. He gets a glass down from the cupboard and fills it with ice and water from the fridge. He goes back and stands by the stove, leaning against the counter. Bucky occasionally taps a finger against his beer bottle. Steve purses his lips, occasionally stirring the wok.

 

“So,” Steve says.

 

“You’re adorable,” Bucky replies.

 

Steve starts and looks at Bucky sharply; his cheeks flame. Bucky grins and Steve just blushes more.

 

“You’re fuckin’ adorable,” Bucky repeats. “You’re like a lil’ bubble’a sunshine.”

 

“You already got me,” Steve answers, smiling though he’s flushing more. “No need to flirt anymore.”   


 

“No need to flirt?” Bucky repeats, then scoffs, affronted. “Doll, I’m gonna flirt with ya ‘til you kick me out.”

 

Steve laughs nervously and reaches up to brush back his hair. Bucky flicks his eyebrows up and down and lifts his beer to his lips. Steve glances up, then just watches Bucky close his lips around the neck of the bottle and his throat bob as he swallows. Bucky clearly notices; he flicks his eyebrows up and down again and smirks. Steve looks away, his face hot with his blush.

 

“Can I call you doll?” Bucky asks then, suddenly concerned. “It’s not – doesn’t make you feel dysphoria or anything?”

 

“Huh?” Steve says, looking up. “No, no, it’s sweet.”

 

Bucky grins. Steve smiles back, glancing back at the stove.

 

“Oh, shit!” he gasps, noticing that the rice is boiling over.

 

Behind him, Bucky laughs. Steve tosses his left hand behind him to show Bucky his middle finger as he turns down the heat on the rice with his right. He gives it a stir and figures it’s cooked through enough. He turns the fire off completely and grabs a towel to pick up the pot by the handle and tip it over the wok. He pours the rice into the wok and stirs it all together, adding more soy sauce, then he grabs an egg from the fridge and quickly scrambles it before folding it into the stir-fry.

 

“This’ll be ready in a minute,” Steve says, tapping his spoon against the edge of the wok.

 

He takes the time to wash the rice pot while the stir-fry finishes cooking. Then he gets out plates and forks, stirs the wok again, and leans against the counter once more.

 

“It smells good,” Bucky offers.

 

“Thanks,” Steve answers, shooting him a smile.

 

He scoops rice, veggies, and strips of steak onto two plates and switches off the fire. He takes the plates and moves to the breakfast bar, sliding one across to Bucky and putting one down closer to himself. Steve hands Bucky a fork, then tucks into his own serving.

 

“Tastes good,” Bucky says after a minute.

 

Steve shoots Bucky another smile.

 

After they eat, Bucky insists on helping Steve clean up. It feels strikingly domestic to wash dishes with Bucky at his side, and it feels right somehow.

 

Steve gets a feeling. He smiles at Bucky and Bucky smiles back. This could be something different, Steve thinks.

 

“Do you want the couch?” Steve asks.

 

“Would you mind?” Bucky returns with an embarrassed smile.

 

“Nah,” Steve says. “You can grab a shower, too, if you want.”

 

“That would be great,” Bucky says.

 

“And seriously,” Steve adds, heading for the loft, “let me give you my friend Sam’s number. He can help you find a place to live.”

 

Bucky pauses at the bottom of the stairs. Steve realizes this halfway up and turns back.

 

“I don’t actually think it would be a good idea,” Bucky explains.

 

Steve frowns. “Why not?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “There’s something up with SHIELD,” he says. “I don’t know what. But I don’t want a paper trail that they can trace back to me.”

 

Steve turns back, considering this. “What if Peggy helped you?” he asked. “Find a place where you could… Keep your name off the books. Hide out, I guess.”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s best if I keep anything to do with SHIELD at arm’s length.”

 

“Peggy’s trustworthy,” Steve insists. “I’ve known her for almost ten years, she’s my best friend.”

 

Bucky hesitates again. Steve takes a few steps down the stairs, so he’s now at eye level with Bucky. He reaches up and touches Bucky’s face. Bucky reaches up, too, and holds Steve’s hand against his cheek, his eyes falling shut.

 

“Maybe you could talk to her,” Steve tries. “She might even help you. If there’s something wrong inside SHIELD, she’d want to do something about it.”

 

Bucky ducks his head, then just shrugs. “Maybe,” he says.

 

Steve brushes his thumb against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky looks up and Steve leans in.

 

Their lips touch and Bucky takes Steve’s waist in hand. Steve curls his other hand over the back of Bucky’s neck. The kiss lasts only a few seconds, but when they part, Steve feels he’s been waiting his whole life for just that one moment. Bucky smiles brightly at Steve.

 

“You’re like sunshine,” Bucky murmurs softly, reaching up to touch Steve’s face. “Can you make everything better?”

 

Steve smiles and shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

 

Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Steve darts in again and steals a fast kiss, leaving Bucky with wide eyes and a wider grin, then Steve turns and heads up the stairs. Bucky follows.

 

“You can shower first,” Steve says, opening the linen closet and taking out a fresh towel. “Here.”   


 

“Thank you,” Bucky says, taking it. 

 

Then he just pauses, standing in front of Steve. Bucky glances up at Steve with a soft smile, then reaches up and gently pinches Steve’s chin between his thumb and knuckle for a moment. Then Bucky moves into the bathroom and shuts the door.

 

Steve lingers for a moment, smiling at nothing, then he gets what Bucky will need for the sofa bed and goes back downstairs. He sets up the fold-out bed, makes it, then flops into an armchair, taking out his phone.

 

Darcy sent him a text a little less than an hour ago letting him know she got home safe. Steve replies with a quick thanks and a smiley face, then switches to his email and spends the next twenty or so minutes clearing his inbox.

 

Bucky comes down, wearing a change of clothes unfamiliar to Steve; something he must’ve had in his backpack. Steve gets up and meets Bucky at the bottom of stairs and they circle each other for a second, until Steve’s back is to the stairs. Steve takes a step up, getting on a better level with Bucky.

 

“Are you going to bed?” Bucky asks softly.

 

Steve shrugs. “I’m gonna get a shower,” he says. “But… We could watch a movie?”

 

Bucky smiles then and nods. He leans in and Steve meets him halfway for their third kiss; it’s soft and slow and ends too soon in Steve’s opinion.

 

Steve takes another step up. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he says.

 

“I’ll be waiting,” Bucky answers.

 

Steve laughs at how cheesy it is but heads upstairs quickly. He pulls the curtain shut, then goes quickly through his shower routine. He skips listening to a podcast and he’s done in just fifteen minutes. Steve gets dressed in comfortable, long pajama pants and a worn t-shirt. He pulls the curtain open just to the edge of the stairs and heads back down. 

 

Bucky gets up as Steve approaches, shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling a little awkwardly. Steve gives him a smile, pausing by the recliner to pick up the remotes to his TV.

 

“You wanna sit on the bed?” Steve asks.

 

“If you want to,” Bucky says.

 

“We can cuddle a little?” Steve offers.

 

“That would be nice,” Bucky replies, his smile growing warmer.

 

Steve walks around the other side of the sofa bed as Bucky perches on the edge of it. Steve kicks back against the pillows and switches on the TV. Bucky reclines back, propping up his head on his hand as he curls his elbow over the pillows. Steve tips his head to the side, just resting his temple against Bucky’s elbow. 

 

“What do you want to watch?” Steve asks.

 

“I have no idea,” Bucky answers. “I don’t remember anything about movies.”

 

“You have a lot to catch up on,” Steve remarks. “Damn, this is, like, your first movie. That’s a lotta pressure to put on a person.”

 

“What about your favorite?” Bucky suggests.

 

Steve looks at him. Bucky lifts his eyebrows.

 

“ _ Frida, _ ” Steve decides.

 

“Sure,” Bucky says, dropping one eyebrow and raising the other.

 

Steve crawls off the bed and digs through his DVD cupboard. He mostly watches movies on Netflix or Amazon these days, but he still has plenty of DVDs.  _ Frida _ is definitely one of his favorites, given that Frida Kahlo is his favorite artist by far. He pops out the DVD and switches on the player, inserting the disc. Then he grabs the DVD remote and climbs back onto the bed. This time, he flops down right next to Bucky and hits play on the movie. 

 

When Steve glances up, Bucky is smiling. Steve grins, too, and lets his head tip to the side to rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Steve has seen this movie many times, and though he is always enraptured anyway, this time he is distracted by Bucky slowly curling his arm over Steve’s shoulders. Bucky starts with his elbow behind Steve anyway, but over the next hour, Bucky shifts his hand from propping up his head to hooking around Steve’s neck. And when he does eventually pull Steve in, Steve shuts his eyes and curls into Bucky. He takes a deep breath. Bucky’s Alpha scent feels just right to him.

 

Miraculously, he falls asleep. Miraculously, Steve doesn’t wake up until he’s being lowered into his own bed upstairs.

 

“Goodnight, sunshine,” Bucky whispers.

 

“Night,” Steve mumbles back.

 

Steve falls asleep again as Bucky’s footsteps echo through the brick apartment to the second floor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ah, gender, i wish you would text me back more often. steve's explanation of gender and gender fluidity is entirely based upon my experience, so if i said something grossly transphobic or anything, pls say so i will correct myself. ily and good night. good night ish. i have another chapter of kept boy 2 to post. i'll be here for a while longer._


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all be warned, pants come off in this chapter. there's also body piercings in sensitive places._

#  **_NINE_ **

  
  


Dating Steve is surprisingly easy. On Sunday evenings, Bucky waits in the alley behind Lady Liberty to be let in. Over the weeks, he finds ways to be clean and shaven  _ before _ meeting Steve. Mondays and Tuesdays, while Lady Liberty is closed, they spend time together, Steve sharing movies and TV and games for Bucky to learn about. Mostly, Bucky focuses on Steve. On Wednesday mornings, Bucky leaves before Steve’s employees arrive to open the shop. It repeats the next Sunday night. 

 

On the days Bucky is without Steve, he moves all over Queens and Brooklyn, breaking into secured Wi-Fi networks to hack into SHIELD’s files one by one, slowly and patiently so SHIELD won’t notice Bucky’s efforts amongst all the tiny infractions of their networks they get every day. He and Steve text during the week, but soon, it isn’t enough.

 

Within a month, Bucky dreads Wednesdays and look forward to Sundays. Within two, he spends less time building bridges into SHIELD’s data. By September, he has found nothing that indicates an infestation of Hydra within SHIELD, and he’s grown tired of having to infiltrate local gyms to use their showers.

 

Steve opens the back door to Lady Liberty and Bucky grins just for the sight of him. Steve grins back and Bucky steps inside, automatically reaching for a hug. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky tucks his nose as close to Steve’s neck as he can, inhaling Steve’s soft, sweet scent. It’s heaven to Bucky; it reminds him of Hanukkah, even though Bucky can’t remember a single Hanukkah in his life and he doesn’t know what it is about Steve’s scent that reminds him of it.

 

“I missed you,” Steve mumbles quietly.

 

“I missed you, too, sunshine,” Bucky answers gently.

 

Steve squeezes before letting go. Bucky catches the edge of the door with his foot and shuts it, flipping the deadbolts and putting on the chains by habit. Steve holds out his hand as Bucky turns back. Bucky takes it and they head up the stairs.

 

“I think it’s my turn to cook,” Bucky says as Steve sets the shop’s alarm.

 

“I think we should order takeout,” Steve answers. “Because you’re not allowed to cook.”

 

“I think that’s a great idea,” Bucky replies. “What’re your pronouns today, doll?”

 

“They/them,” Steve says, bumping into Bucky’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

 

“‘Course,” Bucky says. 

 

He picks up Steve’s hand and gives it a quick kiss, causing them to blush. Bucky smirks, satisfied, and knocks a finger under Steve’s chin. Steve rolls their eyes and knocks Bucky off, heading further into the kitchen.

 

“What are you in the mood for?” Steve asks, tugging out takeout menus. 

 

“Pizza,” Bucky suggests. “Classic American fare.”

 

Steve looks up at him, then snorts and shakes their head. “Carbs and cheese,” they reply, putting the menus back and taking out their phone. “As always.”

 

Bucky walks up behind Steve and hugs them from the back; Steve laughs as Bucky nuzzles his cheek into their hair.

 

“Aw, c’mon!” Steve protests, laughing still. “I’m tryna order dinner, here!”

 

“I ain’t stoppin’ you, sweetheart,” Bucky says. “I’m just lovin’ on ya.”

 

Steve giggles and twists around. Bucky plants a kiss on their lips and Steve smiles against Bucky’s mouth. 

 

“Bubble’a sunshine,” Bucky murmurs. “‘S what’chu are.”

 

Steve giggles again. Bucky rubs their noses together and Steve turns around fully to hug Bucky.

 

“You call for pizza,” Steve says into Bucky’s shirt. “‘S your night to cook, anyway.”

 

“I see how it is,” Bucky chuckles, plucking Steve’s phone from their hand. “I got it, doll.”

 

Steve snuggles into Bucky’s chest. Bucky takes a second just to smile down at them before he calls the usual pizza place and places their order.

 

When Bucky hangs up, Steve takes their phone back and puts it in their back pocket. Bucky rests his cheek against Steve’s hair for a second, then decides vertical cuddling is not as good as couch cuddling and picks Steve up completely. Steve snort-laughs and loops their arms around Bucky’s neck as Bucky carries them out of the kitchen and into the living room. He sets Steve on the sofa, then plops down and wraps his arm around their shoulders. Steve pulls their legs up onto the sofa and cuddles against Bucky’s side.

 

“The new season of Doctor Who started yesterday,” Steve says.

 

Neat,” Bucky replies softly.

"Neat," Steve repeats, snorting. "You're such a grandpa."

 

The pizza is delivered and they sit on the couch to eat while they watch the first episode of season 7 of  _ Doctor Who. _

 

“I fuckin’ hate Daleks,” Bucky says as the first metal trash can appears on screen.

 

“Same,” Steve sighs.

 

Steve eats three pieces of the large pizza, Bucky eats the rest. It’s finished halfway through the episode and Bucky automatically drapes his arm across Steve’s shoulders. Steve cuddles into Bucky’s side again and Bucky tips his head to the side to rest it against their hair. This is why he likes watching TV and movies with Steve. All the cuddling Steve gives him so easily.

 

After the episode is over, Steve sits up and stretches. Bucky lets his arm slide onto the back of the sofa as Steve lifts their arms above their head and yawns. It’s been a long day for Steve; the shop had been busy since it opened to the moment they shut the doors, what with the phones ringing all day and a group of friends clogging the waiting room to support just two of them getting matching tattoos. Bucky knows because he was perched on a rooftop opposite Lady Liberty. It’s usually how he spends Sundays now. Wednesdays, too. And the occasional every other day of the week.

 

Bucky misses Steve whenever he’s not with them. Sue him.

 

“You wanna watch something else?” Steve asks.

 

“Nah,” Bucky says. “You should hit the sack, sweetheart.”

 

Steve deflates but smiles at Bucky. Bucky reaches out and taps a finger under their chin. Steve rolls their eyes.

 

“We got all day tomorrow,” Bucky reminds them. “Get some sleep, dollface.”

 

Steve snorts, as they always do when Bucky calls them dollface, and leans in for a kiss. Bucky cups Steve’s cheek, rubbing his thumbs across Steve’s cheekbone; cautiously scent-marking them. Steve presses their foreheads together after they break the kiss, then they rub their nose against Bucky’s. 

 

“I was thinking,” Steve says quietly, “maybe we could…”

 

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. Steve’s cheeks turn pink.

 

“Maybe –” Steve starts again. “Maybe you could join me? Upstairs?”

 

“Upstairs?” Bucky repeats, then a smile grows on his face. “Do you mean…?”

 

Steve lifts a shoulder, smiling and biting their lip at Bucky; they look so adorable. “If you want.”

 

Bucky sweeps his thumb across Steve’s cheek again. “If you’re ready,” he says softly.

 

“I’m ready,” Steve answers. “I want to.”

 

Bucky presses a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Then I think it’s a great idea, sunshine,” he says.

 

Steve reaches up and takes Bucky’s face in their hands. Steve pulls Bucky into another kiss, one that starts soft. Then Steve parts their lips and Bucky takes the invitation. He cups their waist in his hands, slipping his tongue into their mouth. Steve opens for him, willing and eager.

 

It’s not the first time they’ve French kissed by far. But in the past three months, Bucky has always slept on the sofa bed.

 

“We should go upstairs,” Steve mumbles into the kiss.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees; they break apart and Bucky reaches up to caress Steve’s cheek. “Can I carry you?” he asks. “Is that okay?”

 

“You can carry me,” Steve answers, laughing softly. “I’d like that.”

 

Bucky gets up. Steve lifts their arms and Bucky scoops them up bridal-style. Laughing, Steve wraps their arms around Bucky’s neck and Bucky steals another kiss as he heads for the stairs.

 

“What do you like?” Steve asks.

 

“You,” Bucky replies.

 

Steve snorts and thunks their head against Bucky’s neck. Bucky grins as he mounts the stairs, going up them easily despite having to curve around the spiral-part; Steve weighs barely anything and is certainly not difficult to lift.

 

“Seriously,” Steve mumbles.

 

“I seriously have no idea,” Bucky answers. “I can’t remember.”

 

Steve lifts their head. Bucky sets them on their feet just at the top of the stairs. Steve tips their head to the side, smiling bemusedly.

 

“What?” Bucky says, laughing a little.

 

“Do you not –” Steve asks. “Y’know. Jerk off?”   


 

Bucky considers that. It takes him a second to gather what Steve means, then he lets out a soft  _ oh! _ and adds a  _ huh. _

 

“No, come to think of it,” Bucky says. “It never occurred to me.”

 

Steve giggles and quickly covers their mouth with their hands. “Ohmygod,” they mumble behind their hands, “you’re practically a virgin.”

 

“I think I’ve had sex before,” Bucky defends himself.

 

“But you can’t remember it,” Steve points out, raising their eyebrows.

 

Bucky considers that, as well. He shrugs.

 

“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” Bucky decides. “What do  _ you _ like?”

 

Steve’s cheeks pink up again. Bucky reaches up and cups Steve’s cheek in his right hand, smiling at the warmth seeping into his palm.

 

“What do you like, baby?” Bucky says softly. “Hmm?”

 

Steve butts their cheek into Bucky’s palm. Bucky rubs his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone and reaches out with his other hand to wrap it around Steve’s waist and cup the small of their back, pulling them in.

 

“Do you want to be little?” Bucky asks gently.

 

“Not always,” Steve explains. “Sometimes – It can be easier if I’ve been feeling dysphoric. And if I’m already little, I won’t want to go big just for sex.”

 

“Do you want to be tonight?” Bucky prompts.

 

Steve shrugs a little, then ducks their head and laughs a little softly. “Sorry,” they say, “I just – I get shy sometimes. It’s been a while.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Bucky tells Steve, “it’s cute, sweetheart.”

 

Steve smiles and lifts their head again. Bucky leans in and rubs their noses together gently.

 

“What do you like?” Bucky prompts again.

 

“Can I still call you Daddy?” Steve asks softly.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “I think that’d be – That’d be great,” he says, smiling. “I’d like it if you called me that, sweetheart.”

 

“I like it when you call me that,” Steve answers. “And sunshine. And doll and baby, all the things you call me.”

 

“Yeah?” Bucky returns, smile growing. “What else would you like? Sugar?”

 

Steve nods, still blushing.

 

“Kitten?” Bucky questions, stroking Steve’s cheek.

 

Steve nods again, smiling.

 

“Pretty boy?” Bucky suggests.

 

“Pretty, yes,” Steve says, “boy, no.”

 

They wrinkle their nose, shaking their head. Bucky quickly ducks in and pecks Steve’s wrinkled nose, making them break and giggle softly.

 

“Right, sorry,” Bucky answers. “Pretty kitten. Pretty doll. Pretty baby.”

 

Steve smiles again and rubs their cheek into Bucky’s hand. Bucky grins back, filled with elation.

 

“Would you like me to talk dirty, pretty baby?” Bucky asks. “Or sweet, or both?”

 

“Both,” Steve says, nodding again. “I’d like both.”

 

“What else, sweetheart?” Bucky presses. “You can tell me.”

 

“I like being held down,” Steve says quietly. “And praise.”

 

“Yeah?” Bucky returns, brushing Steve’s cheek with his thumb again. “Tell me more, baby.”

 

“My nipples are really sensitive,” Steve answers, grinning.

 

“Are they?” Bucky chuckles.

 

He reaches up with his metal hand now and touches Steve’s chest. Steve sucks in a breath, their cheeks flushing yet again. Bucky meets their eyes, waiting, and Steve gives a small nod. Bucky feels with his thumb through Steve’s shirt for their nipple; when he finds it, he almost does a double take.

 

“What?” Bucky says, feeling something surprisingly hard in Steve’s nipple.

 

Steve giggles. “My nipples are pierced,” they say, leaning against Bucky’s chest.

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Wow,” he says, smiling, and he feels out the difference between the piercing and their nipple. “Does that feel good, babydoll?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve answers, their voice taking on a breathy tone. “I like a little bit of pain,” they add, completely unprompted.

 

Bucky reaches up with his other hand and gathers a handful of their hair. Steve shuts their eyes, leaning back into his touch, and Bucky slowly tightens his grip. Steve’s mouth parts slightly in the center as their breath hitches.

 

“What else, sweetheart?” Bucky asks.

 

“Marking,” Steve answers. “Any kind.”

 

Bucky relaxes his grip and pulls Steve closer to kiss the tip of their nose. “Good –” he pauses, about to say  _ boy _ and realizing that’s not the right word right now. “Good sunshine,” Bucky says instead.

 

Steve beams and Bucky figures that was the correct substitution. He kisses Steve’s lips again, smoothing his hand through their hair, then starts guiding them towards the bed.

 

“What’s not so good?” Bucky asks. “Anything that makes you feel dysphoric?”

 

“Um,” Steve says while they think. “Don’t – don’t call my dick a dick? Or anything like that?”

 

“Do you want me to call it a clit?” Bucky suggests.

 

Steve shakes their head, wrinkling their nose. “Just don’t talk about it,” they say. “That’s a squick.”   


 

“A squick?” Bucky repeats, smiling. “That’s a cute way to talk about it. What else is a squick, baby?”

 

“Feet,” Steve says, breaking into a smile, too, and giggling. “And, um… Being mean.”

 

“Why would I be mean to you, sweetheart?” Bucky counters with a laugh. “You’re too pretty to be mean to.”   


 

“Some people are into it,” Steve defends.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I won’t be mean to you,” he offers. “And I won’t talk about feet and I won’t talk about your genitals. What else?”

 

“I can’t think of anything else,” Steve says. “My safeword is mangos.”

 

“Mangos,” Bucky repeats. “Right. What is a safeword?” he adds.   


 

“It means cease and desist,” Steve answers primly. “Something is wrong and must be rectified before continuation is possible.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky replies slowly. “Huh. That sounds pretty useful, actually. Mangos.”

 

“Mangos,” Steve says with a firm nod.

 

“I guess my safeword is mangos, too, then,” Bucky says. “‘Cause I can’t think of anything else now.”

 

“Like pink elephants,” Steve giggles.

 

“What?” Bucky says with a laugh.

 

“Don’t think about pink elephants!” Steve tells Bucky with another firm nod. “And then you immediately think of nothing but pink elephants!”

 

“Okay,” Bucky laughs. He ducks in and gives Steve a quick kiss. “Mangos means stop right away. Is there anything else I should know?”

 

Steve lifts onto their toes and wraps their arms around Bucky’s neck, a light smile curling their lips and their eyes on Bucky’s mouth. 

 

“I’m very flexible,” Steve murmurs.

 

“Good to know,” Bucky returns. “So, let’s do it?”

 

Steve giggles, nodding. “Let’s do it,” they answer.

 

Bucky leans in for another kiss, at the same time, taking the hem of Steve’s shirt in his hands. Steve smiles into the kiss and pulls back just enough to let Bucky tug their shirt off over their head; their hair gets poofed up into spikes of white blonde and pastel blue and Bucky drops the shirt onto the ground.

 

Steve flushes down their thin chest and looks down. Bucky touches their cheek with his right hand, then drops it to cup Steve’s ribs. His eyes go straight to their pierced nipples; gorgeous, pretty pink nipples, shot through with shiny rainbow-colored metal bars. Their chest is thin, a little concave just past their ribs, but their belly is soft under Bucky’s touch.

 

“I have a lot of piercings,” Steve admits softly.” 

 

“You’re so pretty, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs. “Lookit’chu, you’re gorgeous.”

 

Steve smiles and their blush extends; Bucky moves his hand up, watching Steve blush right down to their pierced nipples, and he whistles low and appreciative.

 

“Gorgeous,” he repeats, dropping his metal hand to the front of Steve’s jeans.

 

Steve touches Bucky’s chest as Bucky pops the button on their jeans, then they tug on Bucky’s shirt. Bucky lifts his arms just long enough for Steve to get it off, then he crowds in closer, dropping the zipper on Steve’s jeans. Steve’s breathing picks up and Bucky pauses to release his own zipper and jean button. He pushes his jeans and boxers down his hips together and shakes them off his ankles, kicking them away. Bucky looks up again and Steve flushes down their neck again, jerking their gaze back up. Bucky smirks and moves closer, cupping Steve’s cheek with his right hand.

 

“Eager, sweetheart?” Bucky teases. “Why don’t you go ahead and take your pants off?”

 

Steve glances down, grabbing the waistband of their jeans. Bucky touches Steve’s shoulder with a hand, his thumb sweeping into the dip of Steve’s prominent clavicle. He looks down Steve’s body as Steve pushes down their jeans and Bucky’s mouth waters for the sight of them.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky murmurs to Steve. “You’re so pretty, sunshine.”

 

Steve kicks away their jeans, then sits down on the edge of the bed. For a moment, Bucky just looks at them. It makes Steve turn even pinker, but Bucky's gaze zeros in on their dick. It's flushed red and getting hard, but at the tip in their slit and centered in the top of the glans, there are two rainbow-colored spheres identical to their nipple piercings.

 

"Doll," Bucky starts.

 

Steve squirms a little. "Yeah," they say, as though bashful about it. "My thing's pierced, too, yeah."

 

"Holy fucking shit," Bucky mutters, stepping right up to them and dropping to a knee in front of them. "Didn't that hurt?"

 

Steve fists their hands into the bedding, their face bright pink. "Yeah," they agree. "I - I liked it, though."

 

Bucky looks back up, awed. "Yeah?"

 

Steve nods.

 

Bucky flicks his gaze down again, then lifts it and a hand, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Can I touch it?"

 

Steve nods again quickly. Bucky brushes a thumb over the metal ball, then lifts Steve's dick with his thumb to look more intently. Steve exhales sharply and Bucky looks up again, closing his fist around their dick completely.

 

"Okay?" he asks again.

 

Steve nods a third time. Bucky strokes them slowly, feeling the metal piercing the head of their dick.

 

"Got any more piercings to surprise me with?" Bucky asks.

 

"Um, yeah," Steve mumbles. "I've - I've got a taint ladder."

 

Bucky looks up again, eyes wide. Steve grins shyly, then leans back onto their elbows, spreading their knees apart. They lift their legs to plant their heels on the bed and Bucky is given a choice view of Steve's hole. It's small, pink, gorgeous, and between their ballsack and it, there are three oval rings; a blue one, a purple one, and then a pink one.

 

"Holy shit," Bucky mutters.

 

"That's all of them," Steve says. "I am thinking of adding more eventually, though."

 

"Gotta admit," Bucky starts, "I like that plan."

 

Steve looks down at him and grins. Bucky grins back, then cups the back of their right thigh with his hand, holding on.

 

"Can I lick you?" he asks plainly.

 

"Yeah," Steve answers immediately.

 

Bucky grins more and drops his gaze back to Steve's gorgeous hole. He leans in, mouth salivating, and gives it a taste. Steve lets out a groan, falling back onto the bed, and Bucky happily licks them again. He keeps his left hand on the edge of the bed, but grips Steve's thigh with his right to keep them spread open for him. He starts working his tongue into Steve's hole, lick by lick, and Steve goes from groaning and encouraging him to low whimpers that just make Bucky feel proud and possessive.

 

"Buck," Steve whines after several minutes, "come up here."

 

Bucky pushes up off his knees and folds over Steve, pressing their lips together right away. Steve catches his hair, moaning into the kiss, and after a second, they break apart panting.

 

“Where do you want to be, babydoll?” Bucky asks, sweeping his thumb across Steve’s cheek.

 

“My back,” Steve answers, eyes still shut. “There’s condoms in my nightstand,” they add. “Bottom drawer.

 

Bucky grabs one. He touches Steve’s face again and Steve lifts their chin.

 

“Can I move you?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve nods. Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and pushes them back.

 

Steve goes willingly, lifting their arms above their head as they lay down again. Bucky curls an arm under the small of Steve’s back and shifts them further up the bed, getting them into the middle. Bucky climbs onto the bed on top of Steve, settling his knees astride their hips. Steve opens their eyes again, and now they are soft, doe-eyed and trusting. Bucky rests his hands on either side of Steve’s head, then sinks down to his elbows and closes the distance to kiss them. Steve returns it eagerly, but their hands remain lying on the bed above their head.

 

Bucky twists his mouth from Steve’s to go down their neck, at the same time, he moves his metal hand to grab both of Steve’s wrists. Steve lets out a soft sound and Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s wrists, pinning them.

 

Then Bucky lets the gears and motors in the arm whir and his fingers lock. 

 

“Try and break free,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s neck.

 

Steve wriggles slightly. Bucky’s metal hand detects movement and pressure and does not yield. Steve struggles for real, then falls still, suddenly panting. Bucky smiles against Steve’s neck, then drops a kiss to Steve’s pulse point.

 

“You know what to say if you need me to let go,” Bucky murmurs again. “Otherwise, you’re staying where I put you.”

 

“Yes, Daddy,” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky’s body thrums with his hot blood. He licks over Steve’s pulse, then lets his right hand wander down Steve’s chest to their nipples. Bucky sweeps a thumb across a nipple and they shiver.

 

“Good baby,” Bucky says softly. “My sweet little sunshine.”

 

Steve makes a noise high in their throat. Bucky picks a spot on Steve’s neck and bites down.

 

Steve gasps. Bucky switches to sucking on the bite mark instead and Steve makes the high whine again, lifting up underneath Bucky; they lift their knees, now bracketing Bucky’s hips. Bucky presses down, pinning Steve to the bed by their wrists and their torso, and Steve whimpers for a different attention.

 

“I’m going to touch you, babydoll,” Bucky murmurs, his lips dragging up to Steve’s ear. “And you’re going to lie here all still and sweet for me, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, Daddy,” Steve promises, their voice low.

 

Bucky pinches Steve’s nipple one more time before stretching his hand down. He drags his palm over Steve’s body, pressing his scent into their skin, until he gets between Steve’s legs. Bucky pets Steve’s inner thighs for a moment before reaching for their hole, wet from his tongue and their arousal.

 

At the first press of Bucky’s fingers, Steve arches back and whines again. Bucky shushes them softly, pressing kisses down Steve’s neck.

 

“Would you like me to mark you up, sweetheart?” Bucky asks. “Leave your neck a mosaic, hmm?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve whimpers. “Please, Daddy.”

 

Bucky parts his lips and starts to suck a hickey into Steve’s neck, occasionally biting at the skin to bruise it. He circles his finger around Steve’s slickening hole as he does and Steve lets out their breath in small, sharp gasps.

 

“Very good, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his lips brushing Steve’s skin. “You’re doing so well for Daddy.”

 

Bucky could not say if he had encountered someone like Steve earlier in life or if he was just a natural at this role. But Steve’s trusting surrender feels like a drug in Bucky’s veins and Bucky cannot think of anything he’d rather be than Steve’s daddy.  In the past three months, Steve and Bucky not only have waited to have sex, but for Bucky to meet Steve’s little side. Nonetheless, Bucky feels that he has been Steve’s daddy for a while now. 

 

Steve clenches around Bucky’s fingers. Bucky sucks marks into Steve’s neck. Steve’s arms and legs and torso tense, a thin E cord ready to vibrate the second Bucky plucks it. Bucky kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth and whispers soft praise. Steve hooks their ankles over Bucky’s shoulders as Bucky rips open the condom wrapper. Bucky kisses Steve again, and again, and again. Steve clenches around Bucky’s cock.

 

“So good, so pretty, babydoll, you’re doin’ so good for Daddy,” Bucky gasps.

 

“Daddy,” Steve whimpers. “Oh, god, Bucky, oh – oh!”

 

“Can I knot you?” Bucky asks, getting desperate.

 

“Yes,” Steve says, “yes, please, Daddy, knot me! Knot me!”   
  


Bucky presses his forehead just under Steve’s jaw, his mouth hanging open. He gives a few more reckless thrusts and his knot swells. Bucky gets a hand around Steve’s dick and jacks it a few times and Steve whines out  _ Daddy _ one more time before they come.

 

Bucky presses into Steve’s neck, panting. Steve’s body sings its high note and slowly relaxes.

 

“Fu–uuu–uk,” Steve sighs. “Holy fuck.”

 

Bucky breaks into a smile and laughs. He kisses Steve’s neck one more time, then lifts up and kisses their mouth. Steve kisses back lazily for a second, then breaks into a grin and giggles under Bucky’s mouth. Bucky can’t help but grin, too; he releases the gears locking his metal hand and lets go of Steve’s wrists. Steve pulls their hands apart and their face settles into a soft delight as they flex their fingers. Bucky looks up and gently brushes his metal fingers over Steve’s wrist; there are bruises.

 

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asks quietly.

 

Steve shakes their head, stretching their arms out. “Feels good,” they murmur back.

 

Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek again. Steve smiles and shuts their eyes. Bucky pulls Steve’s legs down, then curls an arm under Steve’s back and rolls them both onto their sides. Steve curls their arms between them and Bucky and tucks their head just under Bucky’s chin. Bucky grabs a pillow and tucks it under his head, then curls both his arms around Steve; his metal arm tucking around Steve’s head and his flesh arm wrapping over Steve’s ribs. 

 

Steve hums softly. Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s hair.

 

“Sweet baby,” Bucky murmurs.

 

Steve grins and snuggles closer, curling their leg over Bucky’s waist.

 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Steve murmurs and Bucky just pulls them closer.

 

They lay there, cuddling while Bucky’s knot deflates. After about fifteen minutes, Steve stretches out their arms and slips away from Bucky, breaking the connection, and they lie down flat on their back on the bed. Bucky props his head up on a hand and looks down at Steve, smiling. Steve looks over at him, then smiles back.

 

“Shower?” Steve suggests.

 

“Together?” Bucky returns.

 

“Duh,” Steve says.

 

Bucky grins and leans in to kiss Steve. Steve lifts up to kiss him back, but after a second, pushes Bucky off and gets up. 

 

Bucky twists onto his back and pushes up on his elbows, watching Steve’s ass bounce as they slip off the bed. A smile twists Bucky’s lips.

 

Steve pauses by the bathroom door and looks back, a hand resting on the doorway. They raise their eyebrows at Bucky.

 

“Are you coming?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky pushes up and scoots off the bed. He pauses to remove the condom and tie it off, then throws it away as he stands and crosses to join Steve in the bathroom doorway. Bucky slips his hands around Steve’s waist and Steve turns to face him, lifting their chin, and Bucky presses a kiss to their mouth. They kiss for a long moment and when they break apart, Bucky reaches up to cup Steve’s chin and hold them in place to rub their noses together.

 

“C’mon,” Steve says, “there’s plenty of time to smooch in the shower.”

 

“Oh, there is, huh?” Bucky chuckles, following Steve into the bathroom.

 

There was plenty of time to smooch in the shower.

 

Refreshed from the shower and both still glowing from a post-coital bliss, Steve turns the blankets down on their bed. Bucky heads for the stairs.

 

“Where are you going?” Steve calls. “You still gotta snuggle me, pal.”

 

“To get clean underwear?” Bucky says, shooting Steve a smile.

 

“Oh,” Steve says. They flush and laugh. “Okay,” they reply, “but the curtains are probably open downstairs.”

 

“Ah, well,” Bucky says, taking the stairs down at a quick gait, “I’m not self-conscious.”

 

Bucky hears Steve’s laughter as he heads for his backpack sitting by the sofa. The curtains are parted, but the gap doesn’t put Bucky in the line of sight. Bucky opens up his backpack and tugs out some spare boxers, stepping into them before going back upstairs. Steve is already in bed as Bucky returns and they sit up when he enters. Bucky pulls the curtain closed over the loft and climbs into the empty side of the bed.

 

“Hi,” Steve says quietly.

 

“Hi,” Bucky answers with a grin.

 

Steve leans in and they kiss once before Steve turns and switches off the lamp. Bucky settles down in the bed, then lays his arm out to the side. Steve curls up next to him, pulling the blankets up and over both of them. Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s pale green hair.

 

“Goodnight, sunshine,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“Goodnight,” Steve answers, then, quieter and with an audible smile, “Daddy.”

 

Bucky smiles and kisses Steve’s hair again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _post-coital snuggles **is** my kink. tune in next week for double the softness, bc bucky finally lives up to the title of murder daddy! minus the murder, there's no murder in the next chapter. bucky's already done murder. it's the daddy part i'm talking about. uhhh anyway bye!_
> 
>  
> 
> _oh wait before i go lemme show you steve's piercings. the dick piercing is a reverse prince albert and this is the ring:_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _nipple piercing:_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _and the taint ladder is a set of three guiche piercings, which are between the scrotum and the anus. here's one of them:_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _fr this time, that's all folks_

**Author's Note:**

> _hmu on[twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394) y'all can shout at me_


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